


Cars and Canines

by tesha198



Series: Murderer [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, BAMF Stiles, Criminal Stiles Stilinski, Derek and Stiles are Mates, FBI tracking Stiles, Irish Mafia, M/M, Mechanic Stiles Stilinski, No one knows but Derek, Pack follows Stiles, Stiles Runs, Stiles is new in town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3878041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tesha198/pseuds/tesha198
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles rolls into Beacon Hills one day and sets up shop as a Mechanic. Derek brings in his totalled car after yet another supernatural fight and is immediately taken with him. Slowly Stiles becomes part of the pack. However both sides are keeping secrets that could change everything. Stiles is on the run from his past in the Irish Mafia. Derek has been keeping Stiles in the dark about the whole werewolf thing, not to mention the fact they are actually mates. What happens when Stiles old Mafia life catches up to his new seemingly normal one and everyones secrets are revealed? Will Stiles remain in Beacon Hills with Derek? How far is the pack willing to go to save Stiles and does Stiles actually want to be saved in the first place?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meetings

Stiles jumped out of his jeep, stretching and moaning in satisfaction as his back popped, releasing the tension only 3 days straight of driving can cause. The jeeps door screeched as is swung shut, the sound oddly comforting against the otherwise silent evening.

“Home sweet home.” Stiles sighed, grinning up at the decrepit old garage he now owned. “At least for now.”

 

* * *

 

 

It had been three months since Stiles had moved to Beacon Hills. Three months since he’d up and moved his entire life to a small uneventful town to be a mechanic. His once decrepit garage was now freshly painted, the large sign above it signaling to the town he was open for business. Given it was still an old run down building, perfectly matched to the old town, it looked better now, fresher somehow.

He’d had plenty of work over the course of the three months, albeit most of his clients were more than a little weary when they first met him. A 21 year old owning his own garage didn’t exactly inspire confidence he would get the job done without somehow making the problem even worse. It was all part and parcel for the move, however, and once he returned their cars not a single client mentioned his age again. What can he say, he did exceptional work.

“Hey.” A gruff voiced bellowed through the shop, causing Stiles to bang his head on the undercarriage of the car he was working on.

“Damn it!” Stiles yelped, rolling out from under the car on his industrial creeper. “Can I help you?” Stiles asked, rubbing the fresh bump on his forehead, smearing grease across his face in the process.

“I need my car fixed.” The man grumped, as if annoyed he had to explain such an obvious answer.

“You don’t say.” Stiles returned, dripping with sarcasm. “And here I thought this was a Starbucks.”

The man frowned, his brows knitting together as if a pre-rehearsed move. The expression made him look even more rugged, his dark eyes and rough stubble only becoming more defined in his broody state.

“What’s the damage?” Stiles asked, moving past sarcasm to exhaustion.

Rather than answer the man simply strode out of the shop, without a word to signal Stiles should follow. He did anyway, and what he saw outside made his jaw drop and a strangled noise escape his throat. The car – what he assumed was once a black Chevy Camaro – was a pile of scrap metal, mangled almost beyond recognition. Large chunks of the car were missing, as if bites had been taken from it, the paint was scratched worse than anything he’d ever seen and some of the car doors were missing or refused to close properly. That wasn’t even considering the slowly deflating back tire, the shattered glass in every window including the windshield, and the fact that the headlights were hanging out by their wires, threatening to fall off at any moment.

“Wha- what did you do?” Stiles demanded incredulously. “Run it through a meat grinder?”

“Yes.” The man replied after a brief pause, locking eyes with Stiles.

“I… I cant tell if you’re kidding or not.” Stiles replied, gazing at the man unsurely. “Is that sarcasm? You look the same.”

The man arched his brow but said nothing.

“Right.” Stiles said, wiping the grease off his hands with a rag that he then shoved into the back pocket of his jeans. “Come inside, I’ll have you fill out some paperwork.”

The man followed him to the desk and after a quick ten minutes of filling out paperwork in awkward silence when the man refused to uphold a conversation, he turned to leave.

“I’ll call you when it’s ready, Mr. Hale.” Stiles called to his retreating figure, reading the name off the completed paperwork.

 

* * *

 

 

Four days later Stiles was putting the finishing touches on the black Camaro, more than a little proud of the short time it’d taken.

“I don’t know what that man did to you but don’t let him do it again.” Stiles muttered, tightening one of the lines under the side of the car.

“I’ll drive how I want.” A familiar gruff voice growled.

“Fuck!” Stiles grunted, having hit his head again. “Do you have to do that every time?”

“Yes.” Derek replied, almost a chuckle if Stiles didn’t know better.

Before Stiles could roll himself out from under the car Derek’s foot was hooked under the creeper and Stiles was rolling out against his will.

“Hey!” Stiles griped with an annoyed look. “Hands – or in this case feet – off the merchandise.”

He got up and wiped the grease off his hands and face with his rag.

“She’s ready, just a bit of paperwork and she’s all yours.” Stiles grinned, motioning for him to follow to the desk.

“How’d you get to be a mechanic?” Derek asked, not even bothering to look up from the paperwork.

“And here I thought you hated small talk.” Stiles chuckled, leaning on the desk lazily.

Derek grunted, neither a denial nor a confirmation.

“It’s a long story.” Stiles shrugged. “Basically I’ve been around cars my whole life, mechanic seemed a natural fit.”

“Hm.” Derek replied, finally looking up from his paperwork. “You seem pretty young for an ‘all my life’ kind of story.”

“Yeah well-“ Stiles began but was immediately cut off.

“You done yet?” a voice echoed through the shop. “Derek?”

“Back here!” Derek hollered, never removing his gaze from Stiles.

A guy and a girl sauntered up to the desk, eyeing Stiles briefly before turning to Derek.

“If you’re done flirting we’ve been waiting outside forever.” The blonde girl snickered with a smirk, glancing between Derek and Stiles.

“Paperwork.” Derek replied, not denying her accusation but not seeming to care either.

“Sure.” She grinned, turning to Stiles. “I’m Erica.”

“Stiles.” He replied, shaking the hand she offered.

“So.” Erica grinned at him, almost predatorily. “You should come by Derek’s place tonight. A bunch of us are hanging out.”

“I don’t know.” Stiles replied hesitantly, not wanting to get involved with anyone in a town he wasn’t planning to stay in long.  

“Come on it’ll be fun!” Erica pressed.

“Yeah come on!” a dainty looking guy beside her agreed. “Isaac.” He clarified, pointing to himself.

“Don’t push it guys.” Derek frowned, putting the pen down on the completed paperwork. “Let’s go.”

“I better see you there tonight!” Erica called as she traipsed after Derek. “I’ll come find you and it wont be pretty!”

Stiles groaned, banging his head down onto the desk after they were gone.


	2. Unwanted Prying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts!

“So is he coming?” Scott asked, stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth.

“Yep.” Erica grinned, not a hint of doubt in her statement.

“He never said he was.” Isaac clarified.

“But I told him to.” Erica said with a wide grin.

“And it was more than a little convincing.” Stiles chuckled, cutting into their conversation. “The door was open.” He clarified when the group turned to eye him in shock.

“You’re here!” Erica jumped up happily from the lap of the bulky guy she’d been sitting on. “Guys this is Stiles. Stiles this is Scott, Boyd, and you already met me and Isaac.”

“Hey.” Stiles nodded, glancing at each one as Erica introduced them.

Erica quickly gushed about Stiles and Derek’s sordid love affair at the garage before turning to look at Stiles with the rest of the group.

“What can I say, he has nice arms.” Stiles chuckled sarcastically with a shrug.

A collective groan sounded from the group before there was a loud crash in the kitchen and everyone but Stiles winced.

“Come on it wasn’t that loud.” Stiles chuckled, heading for the kitchen.

Derek was standing at the island, a couple metal pans scattering the floor around his feet. The frown he had on his face was almost adorable if wasn’t so broody.

“Drop something?” Stiles grinned from the doorway to the kitchen.

“You came.” Derek replied, stone-faced as ever, bending down to pick up the pans thus giving Stiles a fabulous look at his ass.

“What the hell is going on?” An irritated redhead demanded, tapping her heeled shoe on the kitchen floor.

“Nothing Lydia.” Derek sighed, placing the pans on the counter. “Just dropped some pans.”

“Well keep it down if you want the research on –“ Before she could continue Derek shot her a threatening look that silenced her immediately.

“Lydia this is Stiles.” Derek growled, gesturing to the interloper in the kitchen.

“Oh.” She chirped, surprised. “Nice to meet you.” And with that she was gone.

“She seems nice.” Stiles chuckled, sitting at a bar stool pulled up to the island.

Derek just shrugged, shoved a pan filled with something in the oven and clapped his hands as if to remove some imaginary dust.

“Why are you here?” Derek asked, trapping Stiles between his arms and the counter.

Stiles shivered, Derek’s breath tickling his skin as he spoke.

“Erica’s pretty convincing.” Stiles shrugged, avoiding eye contact.

Derek snorted, clearly not believing Stiles’ answer.

“You carry yourself like you don’t need to fear a little girl.” Derek frowned, pushing harder.

“You don’t know anything about me.” Stiles replied angrily.

“Well, you’re right about that.” Derek arched a brow. “Not for lack of trying though.”

“Wha-“ Stiles began to demand an explanation only to be cut short.

“Derek, any idea…” Isaac began, only to stop short when he saw Stiles trapped between a counter and Derek. “My bad.” He grimaced awkwardly, rushing out of the kitchen just as fast as he’d entered.

“And on that note.” Stiles sighed, pushing his way forcibly out of Derek’s trap. “I should go.”

Stiles hoped that Erica would be satisfied with his brief appearance, but somehow he knew she would hold it against him. Still, his irritation and discomfort outweighed what little fear he actually had for the blonde and he couldn’t really bring himself to care about whatever retaliation she had planned.

Rushing out of the kitchen and away from Derek he waved shortly to the rest of the group, opening the front door and rushing straight into a guy holding a drink. A drink that wound up all over Stiles’ clothes.

“Dick!” the guy shouted angrily. “What the hell!”

“Jackson!” Derek growled from behind a dripping Stiles.

“What?” Jackson demanded. “He ran into me!”

Another growl from Derek and huff from Jackson and Stiles was being whisked upstairs by Lydia.

“Here put this on.” She threw him a pair of pants and a button down shirt like a whirlwind before he could even form a coherent thought, never mind an objection. “Well. What are you waiting for?”

“Can I get a little-“

“Privacy?” Lydia finished. “No. You could be a thief for all we know.”

“Yeah and my ultimate heist is a bedside alarm clock and a pillow.” Stiles replied, heavy with sarcasm. “Seriously whose room is this?”

“Derek’s.” Lydia replied, her foot tapping faster with every moment Stiles stalled.

“Ugh fine.” Stiles grumbled, quickly stripping off his shirt and throwing on the new one as if it were a race.

He knew Lydia had seen, no matter how quickly he redressed. What surprised him was that she said nothing, no smart comment, no vague reflection, and definitely no questions Stiles would ultimately deflect. The shirt swamped him and frankly looked ridiculous, but he was grateful for anything that covered his skin and got him out of the house that much quicker. Without another word to Lydia he rushed out of the room, down the stairs, and out the door, climbing into his jeep and speeding away.

“What was that about?” Scott asked, closing the front door that Stiles had left open in his haste.

Everyone shrugged, unsure how to answer or what to make of Stiles’ rushed escape.

“I don’t know but he’s covered in tattoos.” Lydia piped up, coming downstairs to join the conversation. “I don’t think he wanted me to see them.”

“What were they?” Erica asked, perking up in interest at Lydia’s statement.

“I don’t know, I only saw his front, but there were a lot.” Lydia frowned, trying to recall the designs. “The biggest was a four leaf clover over his heart, there was something written on each leaf but I didn’t recognize the language. Everything else seemed to branch out from that.”

Everyone stared at Lydia, envisioning the image she had described.

“So he has some ink.” Erica shrugged, waving off everyone’s silent worry. “Who cares? I still like him.”

“We should look into him.” Lydia sighed, rolling her eyes at Erica.

“Weren’t you already doing that?” Jackson asked suspiciously.

“Yeah but the guy’s a ghost, I couldn’t find anything on him. Not even a prior address.” Lydia grouched, clearly irritated by the unsolved puzzle.

“Well if you cant find anything, how are we supposed to ‘look into him’?” Scott asked.

“By sticking close.” Derek cut in, more of an order than a statement, and the pack nodded.

“You don’t honestly think that scrawny kid is behind this do you?” Jackson asked, scoffing at the very idea.

“He comes to town and weird things start happening.” Derek growled in response. “We can’t rule it out.”


	3. Interlopers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gaelic was from google translate so sorry if there are any errors for anyone who actually speaks gaelic. Also if you actually speak irish gaelic that is so incredibly hot, well done.   
> So enjoy and don't forget to comment!

It had been over a week since Stiles had rushed out of Derek’s place so fast he forgot his own shirt on Derek’s floor. Where Stiles had thought he would never see Derek and his friends again, the opposite was proving to be true, and he didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed. Every free moment of his life since that day had been filled by one of the group dropping in or showing up unannounced or forcing him to join them in whatever they were doing. They had even gone so far as to start hanging around his shop while he worked on the cars, watching him as if afraid he would evaporate if they looked away. At first he had been glad they weren’t holding his odd behavior against him, but now he simply wanted to be able to breathe without smelling Armani cologne or fruity perfume or some such scent everyone seemed to wear.

“Where you going?” Isaac called across the shop as Stiles tried and failed to creep out the back. Despite trying everyday he’d not once manage to escape from their supervision. Every time he was caught, even if he was out of sight it was like they could sense when he was making to leave.

“I just need to grab a part from out back.” Stiles called back, swearing under his breath.

“I can grab it.” Isaac offered, jogging up to him. “What is it?”

“No, I need to pull it out of another car so it requires some mechanical knowledge.” Stiles tried to politely decline.

“I’m sure I can handle it.” Isaac pressed.

“Have you ever worked on a car?” Stiles asked.

“No.” Isaac grumbled.

“Have you ever gone to school for mechanics?”

“No.”

“Do you know how to tell the difference between an alternator and a power steering reservoir?”

“No.”

“Then I suggest you get out of my way.” Stiles barked, finally losing his patience completely.

Isaac looked shocked at Stiles outburst, hesitantly taking a step out of his path.

“Good choice.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at Isaac and stepped out the back door of the shop towards the old cars parked in the rear lot.

It only took him about ten minutes to pull the part from the old car, but by the time he returned Isaac was gone and Derek was flipping through a car magazine at the desk.

“Can I help you?” Stiles sighed, focusing on the part he was holding rather than the man he wanted to kiss – er, clobber.

No matter how many times he saw Derek he still had the undeniable urge to flirt, no matter how much he simultaneously wanted to beat him to a pulp for invading every part of his life.

“Is there a reason you have your goon squad stalking me and disrupting my work?” Stiles continued.

“They get attached easily.” Derek shrugged, closing the magazine to fix his broody eyes on Stiles. “Everyone’s coming to my place tonight for a barbeque.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, knowing Derek was inviting him despite it not being a question.

“I’ll be there.” Stiles replied, then under his breath added “I’d just get dragged there anyways.”

Derek grinned amusedly for a split second, as if he’d heard Stiles’ complaint despite it being barely audible, his face quickly falling back to its broody mask.

“I’ll send Erica to pick you up. Isaac seems a little weary of you.” Derek declared before strolling out of the shop and leaving Stiles alone for the first time in a week, however fleetingly.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles lounged on the back porch of Derek’s house, watching as Scott and Isaac playfully wrestled out on the grass. He’d gotten used to everyone’s quirks over the past week, not that he had a choice given they were constantly around. He knew about Lydia’s smart mouth and Jackson’s general rudeness, about Scott’s puppy-dog eyes and Isaac’s tendency to invade personal space, about Boyd’s silent power and Derek’s leadership over them all. He still didn’t quite understand the group’s dynamics but he’d been drawn into their makeshift family so it was only a matter of time in his eyes.

“You’re fidgeting again.” Derek huffed, sinking down onto the porch steps beside Stiles.

“What can I say, I like to keep moving.” Stiles chuckled, eyeing Derek wearily.

They’d grown closer over the past week and Stiles more and more found himself pinned against walls when Derek was around, mostly to get scolded about trying to escape the group’s presence.

“You don’t have to be afraid when you’re here.” Derek assured him, taking a swig from his beer. “Everyone here would protect you if something happened.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Stiles muttered almost silently, taking a swig from his own beer and glancing around at his new friends.

Derek had never asked him about his past, about any family or friends, nothing. In a way Stiles was immeasurably grateful for Derek’s blind acceptance of him, but that only made it harder to leave. Stiles hadn’t stayed in one place for a long time, and now that he found himself settling into an actual life he was growing antsy. He wanted to leave, he had to leave, but he couldn’t.

“Why would that scare you?” Derek asked.

Stiles gaped at him, amazed and embarrassed Derek had managed to hear his confession.

“How did you-“ Stiles began to ask only to be cut off by a feral snarl that drew both his and Derek’s attention towards Isaac and set everyone on edge.

A few moments of silence passed in which Stiles was looking around for answers, before he heard a car door slam at the front of the house and froze. Another door slammed then another and another and finally a small group of men strolled around the side of the house to where the barbeque was happening.

“This is private property.” Derek icily announced, standing in front of Stiles when he noticed his newest pack member was shrinking in on himself.

The men said nothing. In fact they didn’t even stop to survey Derek with their eyes, they simply gazed straight past him at who he was shielding.

“Stiles.” The man at the front of the group addressed with a thick accent, causing Stiles to sigh and finally stand.

In an instant the entire pack was surrounding him, creating a human shield that refused to allow Stiles anywhere near the strange trespassers.

“Brady.” Stiles addressed, pushing through the human wall to speak directly to the man. “How did you find me?”

All of the men were tall, white, and well built, dressed in expensive looking suits, some with gaudy looking jewelry, others simply with a permanent smirk or sneer on their face. The man to whom Stiles spoke, Brady, had his hands resting gingerly in his front pockets and an amused look dancing in his blue eyes.

“Boss had us keep tabs on you.” Brady grinned. “It’s been a while, and you gave us the slip last year, but we managed to pick up the trail.”

The more the man spoke the more apparent it was becoming that these men were not from the area. Their accents were distinct and Stiles internally cringed with each word, knowing the pack was looking for any hint of how Stiles knew them.

“Cad ba mhaith leat?” Stiles quickly switched from English to Gaelic. “D’fhág mé go bhfuil an saol i bhfad ó shin.” [ _Translation: What do you want? I left that life a long time ago_ ]

“Tá rud éigin a tharla.” Brady replied in the same tongue. “Riachtanais an Boss agat.” [ _Translation: Something’s happened. The boss needs you_.]

Derek snarled, clearly unhappy that he couldn’t understand what was being said, and the men all turned to glare at him for the first time. The tension was practically tangible as the men faced off, Derek and the rest on a literal stand off with Brady and his men.

Stiles sighed and locked eyes with Derek before turning back to Brady.

“Buailfidh mé lea tag mo gharáiste.” Stiles firmly stated to Brady, who turned and left with a quick nod, leaving Stiles to explain what was going on.

“Explain. Now.” Derek demanded, furious.

“It’s nothing.” Stiles shrugged, playing off the encounter. “Just some buddies from where I used to live in New York.”

By the time Stiles was finished the sentence he was mentally kicking himself. In the span of a few words he had managed to reveal more about himself than he had all week of being around the group 24/7.

“What do they want?” Erica piped up.

“What language was that?” Lydia inquired disbelievingly.

Stiles sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated for having mentioned his past and even more frustrated that it had managed to catch up with him.

“I don’t know what they want.” Stiles replied, completely ignoring Lydia’s question. The last thing he wanted to do was give her the key to understanding his conversation. “I have to go.”

Before any of them could object Stiles was gone, sprinting down the driveway and into Derek’s car, racing away before Derek realized his keys were missing.

 

* * *

 

 

“Follow him.” Derek growled to Scott and Jackson. “On foot. Don’t get caught.”

They nodded and were off, running through the woods at speeds not humanly possible to catch up to Stiles.

“You still think he’s responsible for the disappearances?” Isaac asked quietly, as if unsure he wanted to hear the answer. “We’ve been stuck to him like glue and he hasn’t done anything suspicious.”

Derek hesitated, as if mentally preparing how he should answer.

“No.” he stated simply. “He was with me the time of one of the disappearances. But he’s pack now, whether he knows what that means or not.”

Derek cringed, knowing his reasoning made no real sense but not willing to discuss it any further. His wolf was rearing inside of him, furious that Stiles was not beside him and that there could even be slightest chance he was in danger. Stiles was human, he should be as far away from the pack and it’s associated dangers as possible, not inducted into the family. Still, Derek couldn’t let go. The surveillance could’ve ended ages ago. Derek cursed his wolf for choosing a human as something he couldn’t possibly understand.

“I’m going to check the perimeter. Stay with Lydia.” And with that Derek was gone, barreling through the forest in a desperate attempt to outrun the feelings his wolf had for an unsuspecting human.  


	4. A Cross and A Reaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update (sorry for the delay). Comment your thoughts!

“I thought I told you to stay away!” Stiles bellowed, slamming his fist onto the desk in his garage and causing a stack of papers to fall to the floor.

“You know people don’t leave the life.” Brady sighed, picking up the papers after Stiles’ outburst. “It eventually catches up to us all.”

Stiles sighed heavily and slumped down into his desk chair.

“I suppose you and I know that the best.” Stiles grumbled, opening his desk drawer and producing a bottle of whiskey. “Uisce Beatha.” [ _Translation: whiskey_ ] Stiles offered Brady after taking a swig himself.

Brady grinned at his old friend and gladly took a swig of his own from the bottle before passing it on to Finn.

“So what’s the problem?” Stiles finally conceded, watching the bottle as it was passed from man to man. “How many bodies this time?”

“A hit’s been put on the Boss.” Brady grimaced, angered at the thought alone.

“Killian was always prone to the drama.” Stiles sighed, taking another swig of whiskey when it finally made its way back to him. “What happened?”

“A rival gang started causing shit after you left.” Brady sighed. “Guess they thought their biggest problem was out of the way. They started a war.”

“Diabhal.” Stiles swore. _[Translation: damn]_

“You know Boss wouldn’t draw you back in if he didn’t think it was necessary.” Brady continued, fixing Stiles with a serious gaze. “But Shay was already caught in the crossfire and we don’t want anymore close calls.”

Stiles turned to look at Shay who was standing to the side, leaning lazily against a filing cabinet. Under Stiles’ gaze he simply frowned and lifted the side of his dress shirt and vest to reveal a large portion of his torso that was bandaged.

“Knifed.” He shrugged, pulling his shirt back down as if he hadn’t been almost fatally wounded.

Stiles frowned, anger glinting in his eyes. Standing, he quickly threw his hoodie on the desk and pulled his t-shirt over his head. Opening the filing cabinet he produced a dress shirt, vest, jacket, tie, and gun.

“What, you think I actually use a paper filing system in this day and age?” Stiles chuckled at the strange looks he was receiving from his old gang. “I like having my old life within arms reach. You never know.”

Quickly, he redressed and stashed the gun in the back waistband of his jeans.

“Where to?” Stiles asked, cracking his neck.

 

* * *

 

 

“Derek!” Scott shouted, bursting through the front door to the house with a loud bang.

Derek appeared in an instant, followed by the rest of the pack, all waiting to hear any news of their new friend.

“Stiles, he’s not who we think he is.” Scott sputtered, speaking so fast he was practically tripping over his words.

“Explain.” Derek growled.

“Dude’s hardcore. His buddies aren’t just old friends they’re Irish mob.” Jackson cut in when Scott began fumbling over how to explain. “And Lydia wasn’t kidding about the tattoos, we were watching from a window and his back is a huge cross with like wings and then a grim reaper.”

Derek just stared at the two of them as if they’d lost their minds, his mouth set into a hard line as he waited for them to continue.

“Apparently they need his help dealing with a rival gang back in New York. The Boss is meeting them at the airport, he’s really eager to get Stiles back.” Scott finished.

At that Derek snarled, his eyes flashing red with anger. “When?”

“Tomorrow morning, they’re going out for drinks tonight to kill time.” Jackson provided, flinching back from his alpha.

“Got it!” Lydia exclaimed with pride. “I couldn’t find him before because he’s been on the run for a while, but with New York, the Irish mob and his unique tattoos I was able to pin him down.”

She tapped the screen of her laptop with her knuckle as everyone gathered around her at the coffee table.

“Apparently he ran with the Irish mob, and when I say that I don’t mean low level, I mean the Boss. He was his right hand. Driving get away cars, completing contract hits, protection detail, he even lead an elite crew of men who took on high risk assignments.” Lydia explained.

“How come none of this came up in your initial search?” Derek demanded.

“It seems Stiles is an alias, no one knows his real name. Also he’s never been officially charged with anything so he technically has no criminal record to speak of. He _is_ on the FBI’s most wanted list but I didn’t bother looking there the first time after no criminal history came up.” Lydia explained, a harshness to her voice as she clarified her frustration.

Erica whistled, leaning over Lydia’s shoulder to read the FBI profile on Stiles.

“Damn, armed and dangerous isn’t exactly how I would describe a fidgety kid.” Erica exclaimed.

“He’s the same age as you.” Derek sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“I’m mature for my age.” Erica shrugged with a wry smirk.

“Are we going to let him just disappear?” Scott asked, finally finding his words.

“Yeah, I hate to say it but he was growing on me.” Lydia chirped, closing her laptop.

“There’s a lot of bars in town, how are we going to find him?” Isaac asked with a frown.

“If you were Irish mob, where would you go for a drink?” Lydia smirked deviously.

“Gallagher’s.” Derek confirmed.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles chuckled at Declan wavering on his bar stool, taking another sip of his own drink.

“He never could hold his liquor.” Brady smirked, receiving a nod from Stiles.

“Some things never change.” Stiles grinned.

The familiar tune of Irish music hummed in the background of the pub and the few other patrons that were in the establishment took great pleasure in conversing with men that actually had Irish accents.

“Boss misses you, you know.” Brady hummed under his breath between sips of his drink.

“I know.” Stiles admitted with a somber frown.

“We all thought you’d come back.” Brady continued. “He was a mess for a long time. Angry. Killing anything that moved. It was hard to put him right.”

“I can imagine.” Stiles cringed, signaling the bartender to refill his glass.

“If you knew then why did you leave?” Brady asked, eyeing Stiles curiously.

Stiles was silent for a long moment, as if contemplating his answer before he sighed and downed his glass in one gulp.

“Things were getting too close.” Stiles’ mouth set into a hard line, his face a ridged mask. “It was only a matter of time before my own demons brought down the group.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Brady scoffed. “There was never anything on you. Only whispers in the dark of the legend. They were no where close to arresting you.”

“Tell that to Dara.” Stiles sighed, peering into his drink as if the answers to his problems would appear there.

“That had nothing to do with you.” Brady frowned. “She sealed her fate long before that day. She knew the hazards of the life.”

“She was arrested because of me.” Stiles insisted. “They saw us together and they brought her in for questioning. When she wouldn’t roll they brought her up on charges we both know were bullshit.”

“You don’t know that.” Brady sighed, shaking his head.

“Cac tarbh.” Stiles swore in response. “We both know I got the Boss’s girl arrested. I was just a constant reminder of that from that point on.”

“Boss loved you.” Brady vowed in a whisper.

“No. He loved to hate me.” Stiles chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong the sex was good, but he didn’t love me.”

Brady frowned, not wanting to give in but also not wanting to continue the conversation for fear of hearing any more about Killian’s sex life.

“Stiles.” An angry voice cut in before Brady got the chance to decide whether to continue.

Both Stiles and Brady turned on their stools to see Derek, his face contorted in rage, flanked by Scott and Boyd. The rest of the group were sporadically standing around the bar, simply watching to see what would happen.

“Brady, this is Derek.” Stiles introduced, putting a reassuring hand on Brady’s arm as the man reached into his blazer for his gun. “Did I leave a shirt at your place again?” Stiles asked sarcastically, trying to lighten the tense mood.

“You’re coming with us.” Derek stated, more of an order than a request.

“I don’t think so.” Brady hissed, once again reaching for his gun only to be stopped by Stiles.

“And if I refuse?” Stiles asked, his mouth twitching in amusement.

“I’ll carry you out.” Derek supplied, his eyes darkening further.

Brady stiffened and Finn, Declan, and Shay all joined him at the bar, ready for whatever brawl was about to occur.

Stiles laughed out loud, downing the last of his newest drink and placing the empty glass on the bar.

“Buailfidh mé leat ag an aerfort.” Stiles nodded to Brady, then followed Derek out of the pub. [ _Translation: I’ll meet you at the airport_ ]


	5. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

“Explain this to me again?” Stiles smirked, arching a brow at Derek.

“You’re staying here until they’re gone.” Derek reiterated for the hundredth time. “We both know if left to your own devices you’d run back to them, so here we are.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, rattling the handcuffs he’d been forced into.

“Is this really necessary?” Stiles sighed, both amused and slightly irritated.

“Yes.” Derek said shortly. “Watch him.” He barked at Jackson before storming out of the house.

Stiles tugged gently at the cuffs. He was sitting on a kitchen chair, his arms cuffed behind his back and over the back of the chair.

“Why are you on babysitting detail?” Stiles asked Jackson absently.

Jackson huffed in response but said nothing, maintaining his focus on his phone.

The cuffs were loose enough that Stiles knew he could get out, he just needed a bit of time. He inhaled deeply, shutting his eyes and focusing on his hands. He rubbed the thumb of his left hand for a minute, steadying his breathing and hardening himself for what was about to happen. Then, when he was sure he wouldn’t make a sudden move or draw attention, he dislocated his thumb at the joint and slipped the cuffs off his left hand.

“So where did Derek go?” Stiles asked Jackson after popping his thumb back in.

“To meet Killian.” Jackson chuckled, not bothering to look up from his phone.

“And how do you know about that?” Stiles ground out, irritated beyond measure.

“Your conversation from the garage.” Jackson shrugged. “You really need to learn to pay better attention to your surroundings.”

In an instant Jackson was on the ground unconscious and Stiles was standing over him, unlatching the cuffs from his right hand.

“So do you.” Stiles stated, cuffing Jackson before strolling out of the house to head to the airport.

 

* * *

 

 

“Killian.” Brady greeted his Boss as he stepped off the private plane.

“Where’s Stiles?” Killian asked, looking around the asphalt to find him missing.

“He said he’d meet us here.” Brady explained.

“He’s not coming.” Derek cut in, strolling up to the men without a care.

“Who’s he?” Killian asked Brady.

“Someone Stiles knows.” Brady shrugged, not caring in the least who Derek actually was to Stiles.

“Knows how?” Killian pressed Brady, surveying Derek as if unimpressed with his appearance.

“No clue.” Brady replied, eyeing Derek in a similar fashion.

“They’re involved.” Erica chimed in, making herself known from where she was hiding behind Shay’s oversized frame.

“Involved?” Killian repeated, his voice losing all amusement and turning chilled.

“Yeah their flirting is nauseating.” Erica droned. “They should just fuck already. We have a pool going as to whether they already have, I bet no.”

Killian eyed her, then turned his attention back to Derek before snapping his fingers. Instantly Declan and Finn were on either side of Derek, holding him in place and awaiting further instruction.

“Kill him.” Killian ordered, glaring at Derek.

A car screeched to a stop just feet from the altercation, the smell of burnt rubber filling the air as dark tire marks stained the tarmac.

“That won’t be necessary.” Stiles announced, stepping out of the silver Porsche.

“You stole Jackson’s car?” Erica chuckled. “What’d he die?”

“No. Just unconscious.” Stiles shrugged.

“Stiles.” Killian smiled warmly.

“Killian.” Stiles returned with a smile of his own. “Been a while.”

“And whose fault is that?” Killian threw back, arching a brow.

“I’m willing to forgive you.” Stiles chuckled sarcastically.

With a smirk Killian strode forwards, quickly closing the distance between himself and Stiles and drawing him into a heated kiss. Still held in place, Derek snarled at the sight.

“I’ve missed you.” Killian supplied once they broke their kiss.

“Yeah. Hear you can’t survive without me.” Stiles chuckled.

“Wish I could say the same for you.” Killian frowned, glancing at Derek from the corner of his eye with a murderous glint.

Stiles glanced briefly at Derek then shrugged, returning his attention to Killian.

“Tá sé ar aon duine.” Stiles sighed, brushing his lips lightly against Killian’s ever so briefly. [ _Translation: he’s no one_ ]

 

* * *

 

 

Derek snarled as two of the Irish men’s large hands clamped around his upper arms, holding him firmly in place. The snarl only grew more feral as he watched Stiles’ lips meet Killian’s, no hint of disgust or dislike in Stiles’ behavior whatsoever. Begrudgingly he pushed down the urge to rip Killian and the rest of the Irish men to shreds with his claws, his rational brain still screaming not to reveal his wolf to humans. How long that brain would remain in control was unclear.

Stiles glanced at him, a distant look in his eyes, as if he weren’t all there, before shifting languages. Derek could hear an uptick in his heart, immediately recognizing he had lied, but about what he had no idea. He still didn’t even recognize the language Stiles kept switching in an out of, never mind understand it. Still, Killian seemed pleased with whatever Stiles had said, an unsettling grin spreading on his face.

A few more exchanges in the foreign tongue and Killian was strolling across the pavement with Stiles, away from where his men still held Derek in place.

The last thing Stiles said was a detached “Slán” over his shoulder, though Derek had no clue what it meant.

 

* * *

 

Stiles paused beside Killian, glancing up at him before turning back to where Derek was being detained. He kept his expression stone cold, knowing Killian would not hesitate to kill Derek if he suspected his true feelings. He had dragged them into this. Taken an innocent group of people and thrust them into a world without rules, without morals. A world filled with nothing but crime and death. He should never have stayed. He should have left weeks ago. Now Derek stared back at him with nothing but pain and anger in his eyes and Stiles knew he was the cause.

“Slán.” Stiles spoke. The last word he ever planned to say to Derek, and he didn’t even understand the language.

It only took him ten minutes to collect his things from the garage and another five to make it back to the airport tarmac to board Killian’s private jet. Derek and the rest weren’t there when they returned, and Stiles knew Brady and the others would ensure they kept their distance until Stiles and Killian were gone. Stiles knew it was for the best, but that didn’t make it any less painful. He’d grown attached to his life in Beacon Hills. To Lydia’s jabs and Scotts joking, and Derek’s smoldering eyes and burning touch. He wondered how he’d survived before meeting them, and how he’d continue surviving now that he would never see them again. There was an unspoken bond between him and Derek, something bigger than any words could convey and more powerful than anything he’d ever felt. He was throwing that away. He had no choice but to throw it away. If he just kept reminding himself of that he’d be fine. He had to be.

When the jet took off Stiles was almost grateful, the roar of the propellers drowning out his fragmented thoughts and his broken heart.


	6. More Criminal than Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment your thoughts please!

New York made him smile. It was familiar and enormous and so easy to disappear in. It had once been home. He couldn’t help but wonder when that had changed. It no longer felt right. Don’t get him wrong, New York had never felt safe or warm, but somehow it no longer made him feel anything but regretful and angry. Angry he’d been drawn back to it. Angry he’d bothered to leave when clearly he never could. Regretful he’d abandoned Beacon Hills so easily. Even more regretful fate had led him to Derek only to rip him away. New York was now just a maze of what could have been and a reminder of where he’d rather be. He hated it. He felt on edge and furious and murderous all the time. He showed none of it. His face had once again fallen into the familiar mask of indifference he’d lived with all those years, hiding his feelings and instilling a false sense of safety in everyone he passed.

Brady, Declan, Finn, and Shay had made it back to NY only a few days after he and Killian, and frankly their presence was the only thing keeping Stiles sane.

“You look like shit.” Brady frowned, leaning on a nearby wall as Stiles furiously hit a punching bag.

“I’m fine.” Stiles grunted between punches.

“Maybe you should lie down.” Brady pressed, his frown deepening.

“I said I’m fine!” Stiles barked back, punching the bag so hard sand began pouring out where his fist had made contact.

Brady raised his hands in mock surrender, not pushing the issue any further but eyeing Stiles suspiciously. Stiles cursed, frowning at the grains of sand spreading across the floor and putting an end to his workout. He knew he looked off, not that anyone but Brady had noticed. He was careful to mask it from Killian and no one else was astute enough to notice the change in him. He’d quickly gained back the muscle tone he’d lost while away from NY, working out the only thing able to distract him from thoughts of Derek. Still, his eyes were lifeless and his mood horrific. He was more criminal than man now and was even beginning to scare himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek paced his house irately, his silence somehow more menacing than the growling he’d been doing over the past couple days. Pack members rushed out of his way each time he wandered near them, not wanting to set off the explosion of anger lurking just below the surface.

He’d wanted to follow Stiles to New York the second he’d gotten on the jet and left. He felt on edge and unsettled without the young man near. His wolf was growing more viscous and frustrated everyday, screaming at him to go after Stiles.

He couldn’t. Not yet.

Apparently Stiles and the Irish mob’s sudden appearance in Beacon Hills had drawn the FBI to town. Everyday was a new stream of questions and accusations from the overly antagonistic agents who had gotten wind Stiles was involved with the pack. They’d revealed nothing, not that they knew anything of Stiles’ past to reveal in the first place, but still. The agents didn’t like their not cooperating. If the pack headed to New York now one of two things would happen. Either one, they would be arrested for leaving mid investigation. Or two, they would be followed straight to Stiles and wind up getting him arrested.

Neither was a good option. So they remained in Beacon Hills, with Derek growing ever angrier and the pack feeling more and more caged.

 

* * *

 

 

“So who’s the dick causing the problems?” Stiles asked Killian, rolling over to lean his head on the man’s chest.

It felt odd to be in this situation again. Back in bed with Killian, as if he’d never left New York. Stiles already had hickeys coating his skin, some fading from the first couple nights he’d been back, others just surfacing from their just finished sex. Killian had always been a possessive man, just as violent and aggressive in bed as in the rest of his life. He loved to mark Stiles, to claim him. But ultimately to punish him. It wasn’t love, it was possession, like an addiction that would slowly consume them both. Stiles had once thought that to be enough, had never experienced anything different. Things were different now.

“Leader of a Mexican drug cartel. Just broke into New York.” Killian explained, taking a puff of his cigarette. “Started a turf war.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to get to work breaking whoever had forced him to return.

“Where do I find him?” Stiles asked, leaning up to lock eyes with Killian.

“Junkyard. Lower east side.” Killian exhaled a plume of smoke.

“I’ll be back.” Stiles stated, climbing out of bed and throwing back on his clothes – a charcoal grey checkered dress pant with matching vest, and light grey dress shirt.

“Now?” Killian asked, as if shocked Stiles was doing his job.

“Now.” And with that Stiles was out the door.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles pulled up to the junkyard and dismounted the black Yamaha YZF R6 he’d borrowed from Killian’s garage. The exhaust was loud, but its not as if he was aiming for stealth regardless so he opted not to care. By the time he was approaching the tiny office building settled in the middle of the junkyard, men were already beginning to surround him.

“What you want homie?”One of the men demanded, drawing the gun from his waistband and pointing it at Stiles.

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“How about grammar for one.” Stiles sighed over-exaggeratedly. “I’m looking for your boss.”

“You found him.” the same man said with an amused grin.

“Ha!” Stiles laughed out loud. “Yeah right. If it was you I was looking for then I wouldn’t be back in New York in the first place.”

“Huh?” the man shot back, confused.

“Exactly my point.” Stiles sighed again. “Where’s your boss.”

“I think its time you leave.” The man returned, waving his gun threateningly and waiting for Stiles to turn and flee.

“Last chance.” Stiles exhaled, frowning at the gun being pointed at him.

No one moved save for the cocking of guns behind him as other members of the gang prepared to fire. Then in a blur Stiles was off and men were dropping like flies. The magazines for every gun being pointed at him suddenly dropped from the weapons, rendering the guns all but useless. With a satisfied grin Stiles turned and slashed one of the men behind him with a razor. The man’s neck spilled blood, bright crimson all over the ground in a mess as he futilely grabbed at the wound for a few seconds before collapsing into death. As he fell the other men raced forward in attack. They were too slow. Stiles spun out of ones path, watching as he ran directly into one of his comrades. The next he cut a deep gash down his forearm, sashaying out of the way as the man reeled in pain as blood flowed from his flesh. Each assailant he cut, some worse than others, some instantly fatal, others promising a slow death. When it was finally over Stiles stood in the center of the junkyard, men scattered around him limp on the ground. Blood stained everything, coating each man, pooling in the dirt beneath his feet, and speckling his own milky flesh. None of it was his. Turning slowly he strolled over to the lone survivor of his violence, the man who’d waved the gun in his face, and bent down so he was on eye level.

“Now let’s try this again.” Stiles grinned, his eyes glinting murderously. “Where’s your boss?”

“I…I don’t know!” the man whimpered, cowering away from Stiles as Stiles absently played with the razor in his hand.

“Tick, tick, tick.” Stiles frowned, waving the razor back and forth like a metronome.

“I swear!” the man pleaded, desperately trying to crawl away from Stiles despite his injuries. “This place is just a front. He barely comes here.”

“Where does he live? Work? Walk his dog?” Stiles scowled. “You must know something.”

“He has meetings at a bar uptown. That’s all I know!” the man promised.

“Hm.” Stiles sighed, feigning indifference.

“What are you going to do? Take him on by yourself?” the man threw back suddenly. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“What are you going to do?” Stiles shot back coldly. “Tell him?”

The man’s eyes widened in fear and remained as such for eternity, permanently frozen by Stiles’ quick hand. He almost didn’t see it coming. Almost.  

Stiles folded his blade into the inner pocket of his vest and remounted his motorcycle. He knew the men would be found soon enough. He counted on it.


	7. Touché

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! Check out my other stories and subscribe if you do.

Derek stood at the edge of a junkyard in New York with the pack. An oversized chain-link fence with barbed wire kept them out, but even from a distance they could smell it. Death. It was strong, so strong he wondered how passing humans couldn’t smell it. The scent of fear and blood, and something else. Something familiar. Something distinctly Stiles.

“Derek.” Isaac muttered under his breath.

“There’s an explanation.” Derek offered before anyone could voice their concerns.

“Yeah. Stiles murdered people.” Jackson offered, glancing at his alpha with a frown.

Derek said nothing, just stared at Jackson with a dark expression before turning and walking away from the junkyard.

“Scent heads west.” Erica pointed.

Derek nodded and they all piled into their respective cars and headed west.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles stood in the shower, letting the warm spray wash over his skin and watching the red-tinted water race down the drain. Brady had been furious when he’d returned, insisting he should have taken them as backup, but it all fell on deaf ears and he knew it. Stiles wouldn’t drag them into it unless he absolutely had to. If his mark was dangerous enough to warrant his return there was no way he was putting his own people in danger. So he just stood there, letting Brady shout at him until he was raspy and breathless then silently left to wash out the blood. His clothes were already burning in the mantle of Killian’s room and with a little bleach down the drain soon all evidence would be destroyed. He sighed, looking at his hands absently and wondering if he should be feeling ashamed of what he’d just done.

A loud shout lurched him out of his thoughts and he sprang into action, grabbing a towel on his way out of the bathroom.

“What’s happening?” Stiles shouted, racing down the stairs and into the front lobby of the estate.

Standing in the lobby was Derek, holding Finn by the throat, with the rest of his group flanking him aggressively. The second he spoke he regretted it. He should have stayed in the shower. Derek turned to face him, his dark eyes boring into him and making his heart beat a million miles a minute. They locked eyes and Stiles couldn’t help the shudder that ran through him. Derek raked his body with his eyes, his expression transforming from rage to lust and causing Stiles to become acutely aware he was currently in nothing but a towel.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles cleared his throat, looking away from Derek in order to speak steadily.

Derek said nothing, just continued to stare at Stiles as if trying to crack an impossible puzzle.

“Let him go will you?” Stiles sighed, gesturing to Finn gasping for breath under Derek’s hold.

After a few seconds of hesitation Derek released him and Finn was left coughing against the wall.

“You haven’t answered my question.” Stiles stared at Derek, forcing his face into a cool mask of indifference.

“We came for you.” Scott mumbled from behind Derek.

“Go home.” Stiles frowned, readjusting the towel around his waist. “You have no idea who you’re getting involved with.”

It was at that moment that Killian chose to emerge from the kitchen, his face falling when his eyes landed on Derek.

“I thought we’d taken care of this.” Killian frowned, looking at Derek icily but addressing Brady. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, still wet from his shower, and smirked as Derek’s lip twitched in uncontainable rage. His smirk only widened as he leaned down and brushed his lips across Stiles neck. Derek lost it.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek knew he had made a mistake immediately, but his wolf was in control and there was no arguing with the animalistic rage pulsing through him. With a snarl that couldn’t possibly be human he lunged forwards, reveling in the fear in Killian’s eyes. He knew what he must’ve looked like, especially to a clueless human. He could feel the oversized teeth in his mouth, the pointing of his ears, but most of all the satisfaction as the wolf finally took control.

A gun went off and Derek roared, turning to face a petrified Shay.

As quickly as the bullet hit him, the wound was gone. Still, the pack sprung into motion at the shot, instinctually attacking Shay who was realizing the mistake he’d made.

Then everything stopped.

Scott was frozen midair in his jump towards Shay, as was Jackson and Isaac. Derek and the rest of pack, although only snarling, were frozen in place unable to move a muscle. Even the Irishmen seemed unable to move, save for Stiles whom was currently adjusting the towel hanging around his hips and grumbling under his breath irately.

“You never told us you were magic.” Derek ground out, finally realizing Stiles was holding everyone in place with an unseen force.

“You never told me you were werewolves.” Stiles shot back just as accusingly.

“You never told us you were part of the Irish mob!” Derek snarled in response.

“Touché.” Stiles frowned after a brief moment of silence.

What seemed like an eternity but was really only a few minutes passed with everyone struggling in futility against Stiles’ hold. The wolves stuck in attack positions and the Irishmen mid motion of drawing their guns to assist Shay.

“I’m going to let everyone go now.” Stiles sighed, eyeing Derek then Killian. “Everyone behave.”

The second the invisible holds broke everyone collapsed to the floor in relief. The humans rubbing their stiff muscles and the wolves shifting back to their human personas.

 

* * *

 

 

“You swore you’d never do that again!” Finn whined, rubbing his neck.

Stiles just rolled his eyes and waited for everyone to come to a more civilized understanding so he could go put on real clothes.

“Yeah. What happened to the only-using-powers-on-enemies rule?” Brady chimed in, cracking his neck as he got up off the floor.

“Desperate times.” Stiles shrugged unapologetically.

“You missed a spot.” Brady sighed, pointing to Stiles’ hairline after getting up.

Stiles drew his fingers across the area to find them dyed red with blood. Derek snarled at the revelation, but Stiles ignored it.

“Got a little distracted.” Stiles frowned, rubbing the crimson between his thumb and fingertips as if it would somehow disappear.

Brady simply shook his head but didn’t say anything further.

“Is that from the junkyard?” Derek growled.

Stiles locked eyes with him, narrowing his eyes in displeased questioning.

“What do you know about that?” Stiles asked wearily.

“I know you killed someone.” Jackson mumbled from behind Derek, already sick of the present conversation.

Stiles eyed him, then Derek, then the rest of the pack before glancing at his own men briefly.

“Five actually. Maybe more. I lost track.” Stiles returned in an ice cold calm that set the pack on edge.

Stiles could see them physically tense as he spoke. He didn’t care. If they refused to leave without the goofy kid they knew, maybe they’d be scared off by the stone-cold killer he really was.

“Why?” Derek asked shortly, eyeing him as if the answer were a test.

“They crossed a line they shouldn’t have.” Stiles replied, meeting Derek’s gaze with a detached stare.

There was a long silence in which the pack stared at Derek, Derek stared at Stiles, Stiles stared back at Derek, and the Irishmen simply surveyed the entire interaction.

“Stiles go finish your shower. I’ll make your friends a cup of tea.” Brady insisted, breaking the tension filled silence and ushering Stiles upstairs before he could protest.


	8. Kill and Disappear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When writing the part where Stiles and Declan are singing in front of the fireplace I envisioned a song similar to "Just a song at twilight" by Celtic Thunder. So check that out on Youtube if you're interested!   
> Let me know your thoughts and more to come soon!!

Stiles’ feet felt like led as he reluctantly crept back downstairs. He really had no desire to reunite with Derek and the rest. Ok maybe a little desire. Frankly he was simply glad he now had on pants.

Everyone sat in the common area in front of the fireplace. A heavy tension sat in the air, clearly making the wolves twitchy, broken only by the absentminded plucking of a guitar by Declan. Glancing quickly at Derek, Stiles hurriedly sat down with Declan directly in front of the mantle. They sat back-to-back, leaning on each other as if needing to do so to remain upright, and Declan didn’t falter in his plucking as Stiles settled in with him.

Stiles could practically feel Derek’s gaze boring into him, though he refused to glance at him for fear of any remaining self-restraint disintegrating.

As if feeling Stiles’ internal panic, Declan pressed his back more firmly into him and began humming softly to the tune of his plucking. Stiles relaxed, closing his eyes and simply basking in the familiar song he hadn’t heard since he’d first left. The humming grew louder with each passing moment until the melody filled the room and seeped into Stiles’ every muscle like a relaxant. The room slipped away, the wolves slipped away, Derek slipped away and in their place was a sense of calm Stiles hadn’t felt in a long time.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek watched as Stiles crept into the room like doing so caused him physical pain. He was frowning and a deep crease was permanently fixed between his brows. Fleetingly their eyes met but Stiles turned away so fast it was a wonder his head didn’t fly off his shoulders from the force. He wore a pale green dress-shirt, stained darker from the water droplets still falling from his wet hair, and Derek couldn’t help but miss his messy t-shirts from back in Beacon Hills.

Holding back an instinctual growl as Stiles sank down against the one strumming a guitar – Declan if he remembered correctly – he watched Stiles lean back against the man and close his eyes. Everyone remained silent, as if afraid to recognize Stiles had finally surfaced despite that having been what everyone was waiting for. Declan’s strumming became humming and Stiles visibly relaxed, though his eyes remained closed. The crease in his brown vanished and his body relaxed against the back of his friend, as much as Derek wanted to separate them.

Declan’s voice grew louder and soon the humming became singing and a smile tugged at the corners of Stiles mouth. The song was slow, a ballad that seemed to captivate everyone in the room. Then, without warning it was Stiles’ voice filling the silence, replacing Declan’s voice in the melancholy melody. No one spoke, no one moved, hell they barely breathed, all scared of snapping Stiles out of his trance and ending the tune. The song continued and Stiles’ voice danced together with Declan’s making Derek’s heart race and hurt all at once. The moment was beautiful, then all too quickly it was over and Stiles was glancing around as if immensely confused.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve done that.” Brady sighed, as if wistfully recalling a past Stiles Derek would never know.

“Yeah.” Stiles mumbled, barely audible as he sat up from leaning against Declan.

“How about another?” Brady pressed, eyeing Stiles curiously.

“I think I need a drink.” Stiles announced, quickly getting up and rushing out of the room towards the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles raced to the kitchen before anyone could protest, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from one of the cabinets and taking a large swig. Killian wouldn’t be pleased he was into the good alcohol, and drinking straight from the bottle no less, but he would deal with that later.

He felt claustrophobic. Derek and the pack mingling with Brady and the rest of his Irish family didn’t exactly spell out relaxation for him. He by no means wanted Brady and the others to discover the easygoing, carefree persona he had in Beacon Hills. It would only tarnish his reputation as a hardened killer; something of an asset given he was only back to murder someone. Even worse, he didn’t want Derek to discover who he was before they’d met. He’d done things he wasn’t proud of. Twisted, murderous things. At the time he’d taken pleasure in the ease at which he could kill, could take someone’s life and hold it in his hands. Now, that pleasure seemed dark and shameful, and something anyone outside his world could never understand.

He took another swig of the whiskey before slamming the bottle onto the counter and prying open the kitchen window. Glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one had followed him, he climbed onto the counter and jumped out the window, landing gracefully on the ground outside and taking off in a brisk run.

The sooner Derek and the pack left the better, and any hopes of that happening rested with him finishing what he’d come back to do. He needed to end this and soon. He needed to kill. And then he needed to disappear.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek suddenly stood, knocking Erica on the back of her head with his knee and making her glare up at him from the floor.

“Stiles is gone.” He announced before jogging to the kitchen, everyone following close behind. He’d heard the window open clear as day and then the soft thud of someone jumping out of it. There was no doubt in his mind Stiles was gone.

Brady swore upon seeing the open window and the bottle of whiskey on the counter.

“He’s going to do something stupid again.” He muttered under his breath, putting the bottle back in the cabinet before Killian could find it.

Derek was off in an instant, through the front door and behind the wheel of his Camaro before anyone could tell him to stop. Brady climbed into the passenger’s seat before he could pull away, buckling his seatbelt and ignoring Derek’s murderous glower.

“If you think you’re going alone you’re crazy.” Brady scoffed, before jerking his head towards the road. “Drive.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles’ motorcycle sped through the streets, weaving in and out of traffic and earning more than a few shouts from startled drivers. He didn’t slow down nor pay heed to the numerous threats he was receiving. It was late enough that the bars uptown were open and that’s exactly where he was heading.

He had no illusions that Derek wasn’t following him, knowing full well he was being tracked by werewolf senses that no amount of speed could evade. Still, the sooner he reached the bar scene the sooner he could find his target and the sooner all this would be over.

He pulled up the curb, swerving in front of another car and stealing the space they’d been trying to park in. the driver began shouting profanities at him but promptly fell into startled silence when Stiles removed his helmet and fixed him with a glare full of the dark, murderous intent he had. The car pulled away and Stiles dismounted his bike, staring at the oversized bouncer in front of the Spanish bar. The man was far too much security for a simple nightclub, and given the gun protruding noticeably from his belt and the earpiece he kept touching as if receiving orders, Stiles knew he was in the right place.

He snuck into the alley at the side of the bar, not wanting to use the front entrance. Public entrances meant security cameras, and security cameras meant evidence. The fire escape was above, the ladder fastened just out of reach of people on the ground, most likely to prevent people from sneaking in. Stiles scoffed and raised his hand, the ladder falling to the floor under the pull of his power. He climbed up and pulled the ladder back out of reach of anyone on the ground – he sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easier for Derek to follow him – before opening a window and climbing through.

The bass from the bar was almost deafening as he snuck through the halls, expertly avoiding any cameras mounted on the walls. Finally he reached a staircase that led down into the main bar area and began to descend, taking each step carefully and calculatingly.

He reached the bottom and froze, an anger spreading through him in a wave. The bar was empty, the loud music actually masking the otherwise starkly silent establishment. Instead of patrons and drunken partiers, a small army of men with guns met him at the bottom of the stairs, guns drawn and pointed at him with fatal intent. Stiles eyes narrowed. He’d walked into an ambush.


	9. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to subscribe to my page for similar works!!   
> More to come soon!

“We’ve been expecting you.” A man strode forwards, the men wielding guns clearing a path for him as he moved to confront Stiles.

“How cliché.” Stiles frowned, his voice hard and flat and entirely un-amused in the face of apparent danger.

“I assume you’ve come alone.” The man continued, ignoring Stiles’ comment save for a slight irritated twitch in his jaw.

“I assume you’re the head of the Mexican cartel.” Stiles returned, eyes narrowing as the man stopped mere feet away from him.

A slight smile played at the man’s lips, clearly impressed with Stiles’ audacity.

“Your reputation precedes you.” The man nodded, dragging his eyes up and down Stiles’ frame before scoffing. “I expected you to be taller.”

“I expected you to be smarter. So I guess we’re even.” Stiles threw back with an irritated frown, quickly growing tired of the needless banter.

The man was bronzed with a buzzed haircut and a deep-set glower that never seemed to break. He was clad in tan dress pants and a crisp red dress shirt, both pristinely pressed without a spec of dirt. The ends of a few tattoos peeked out from the wrists and collar of his shirt, and Stiles assumed under his shirt his torso was completely covered with ink, especially given his men were covered practically head to toe.

“You expected more?” The man arched a brow, gesturing to the small army behind him still pointing their guns at Stiles.

Stiles glanced past the man, his gaze flitting across each of his men briefly before returning to their leader. Although immensely outnumbered, Stiles was frankly amused at the inexperience of many of the men. Some were staring at him as though he would suddenly mutate and devour them whole, while others were clearly not used to handling a weapon at all. Hell, Stiles even spotted one man whose gun still had the safety on. Sure some of the men seemed to be hardened criminals, clearly having plenty of experience with the guns pointed at Stiles’ face, but the inexperience of the others was actually insulting if Stiles was honest.

“Much.” Stiles sighed, frowning at the man. “Let’s get this over with.”

The man’s jaw flexed, clearly insulted by Stiles’ nonchalance in the face of the army he’d amassed. With a snap of his fingers all the guns in the room cocked and Stiles sprung forwards, grabbing the leader and holding him in front of himself as a shield. His men froze, unsure how to proceed without jeopardizing the safety of their boss.

“Stiles!” Brady’s voice exploded through the room.

A moment, that’s all it took. One word for Stiles to get distracted and only a moment for that distraction to be exploited by the cartel head. One second he was in Stiles’ grip, the next he was gone and bullets were whizzing through the air. Stiles jumped out of the way, ducking behind the bar for cover. He could hear loud footsteps thundering down the stairs and into the bar as Brady and the pack surged into the room and opened fire.

Stiles swore and rejoined the fight, jumping out from behind the bar and stabbing one of the men with a razor when he tried to fire on Isaac. He spotted the cartel head across the room, firing his gun at Brady and Declan.

In a flash Stiles set out towards him, ducking out of the path of stray bullets and ignoring Derek’s frantic calls for him to stop. The man fired again, sending Declan ducking out of the way, before turning to notice Stiles charging him. They locked eyes and an expression of panic flashed across the man’s face before he settled his face into a mask of rage and began firing wildly at Stiles.

Stiles dove out of the way, but in doing so left Finn exposed to the bullet meant for him. As if in slow motion he watched as the bullet struck Finn, lodging into his neck and sending him reeling sideways from the force. Stiles froze, his eyes widening in horror and his heart thundering in his chest. In an instant everything else was forgotten. There was no Mexican cartel, no gun war, and no immediate danger, there was only his family lying bleeding on the floor in his place. A heart-wrenching shout erupted from Stiles’ throat, a sound he hadn’t even been aware he could make. He raced to Finn’s side, dropping to his knees and applying pressure to the wound in his neck. Finn gazed up at him, eyes filled with fear and confusion as he tried to speak but found himself unable to do anything but make a garbled wet sound as blood filled his mouth in place of words.

“He needs a hospital!” Stiles shouted, desperately searching the room for anything of use.

A phone. A first aid kit. Anything that could make his family member live.

There was nothing.

“We can’t.” Brady spoke, dropping to his knees on the other side of Finn and carding his fingers through his friend’s hair. “He goes to a hospital and people ask questions. Questions we can’t answer without incriminating ourselves.”

“I don’t care!” Stiles shot back angrily, appalled Finn’s life meant so little.

“Stiles. He won’t make it to a hospital.” Lydia’s voice cut in softly, pained regret clear in her voice.

“You don’t know that.” Stiles sobbed, noticing the life beginning to dim in Finn’s eyes where he was staring up at them.

“I do.” Lydia reassured him, placing a hand on his back in an attempt at comfort.

Before she could explain how she knew, or anything else for that matter, Finn shakily lifted his hand to grip the front of Stiles shirt, a reassuring yet determined look in his eyes, before his hand dropped and Stiles released a pained wail over his friend’s death. He removed his hands from Finn’s neck, now sticky and bright crimson with blood, and closed Finn’s eyes with his fingertips.

The room was heavily silent, everyone afraid to move, afraid to breathe so as not to upset Stiles any more than he already was. After a few moments of Stiles leaning over his friend, staring at him with tear stained eyes and brushing his hair back a few times as if a nervous tick, Stiles fell back on his haunches and broke down. His breath was hitched in his throat and his crying was a pained, wounded sound that made Derek and his wolf squirm in longing to take their mate in his arms.

He was bloodstained and ragged, a smeared bloody handprint on the front of his shirt from where Finn had grabbed him and bloody pants from where Stiles had tried to wipe away the blood coating his hands, to no avail.

“They knew.” Stiles mumbled, as if something were clicking in his mind for the first time.

He peered up at his mob family and the pack, all mingled together around him, a glint of understanding in his eyes and a twisted look settling over his face that made Derek cringe.

“They knew I was coming.” Stiles repeated slightly louder. “It was an ambush meant for me. Finn died because of me.”

At that Derek couldn’t stop himself anymore, he was at Stiles side in the blink of an eye, pulling him against his chest and shaking his head.

“Let go.” Stiles ground out darkly, not moving a muscle save for the narrowing of his eyes.

Derek released his hold, slightly startled by the threatening bite under Stiles’ words. Once freed, Stiles rose to his feet, his face settled into a hard mask and his eyes dancing with homicidal intent. His posture was different to anything Derek had ever seen of him, rigid and alert, as if he could sense every hint of movement in the room and was ready to extinguish it all. It was as if a switch had been flipped in him, a shadowy, warped switch that turned on all his bloodlust and anger. There was absolutely no hint of sadness or joy or any other emotion besides rage left in him. There was no hint of the old Stiles.

“Stiles, don’t.” Brady’s voice cut through Derek’s bewilderment, snapping him back to the situation at hand.

“This isn’t about territory anymore.” Stiles announced, his voice dripping with unspoken threats despite it being eerily calm. “This is about revenge.”


	10. Complicated History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come! Comment your thoughts!!

“We should be out there looking for him!” Derek roared, pacing the room like a caged animal.

They’d managed to get Stiles back to the house and cleaned up, albeit at great personal cost on Derek’s part who had suffered a broken arm thanks to Stiles’ rampage. He was no longer holding his power in check, no longer caring which persona was visible, all he cared about was getting revenge for Finn, no matter the cost. When Derek and Brady had tried to keep him in the house against his will he’d rebelled in quite the violent manner and Derek’s arm had suffered the consequences. It had already healed, but that didn’t change the fact that Stiles was gone and didn’t want any more help.

“How much do you know about Stiles?” Brady sighed, sitting on the couch sipping a whiskey and watching Derek pace.

Derek stopped pacing and frowned, not wanting to admit aloud the answer was nothing. The rest of the pack stared at Brady, practically vibrating with unasked questions.

“I don’t know who he was in Beacon Hills, but his reputation here is slightly… darker than anyone’s his age should be.” Brady frowned, jiggling his glass so the ice clinked against the sides almost melodically.

“I told you he was a kid.” Erica twittered under her breath from her place lying across Boyd’s lap.

“If you disapprove so much then why is he here?” Lydia asked coldly, a furious glint in her eyes.

“That was Finn’s doing.” Brady sighed, a mournful smile twinging at his lips. “When Stiles was a kid, Finn found him trying to boost one of our cars.”

“Troublemaker to the core, even then.” Shay chuckled from his place leaning against the mantle.

“Finn tried to stop him but Stiles’ power made it... difficult.” Brady continued, taking another sip of his whiskey. “He managed to get away with the car.”

“Killian was none too happy that day.” Declan muttered, unable to stop the amused grin now clear on his face. “Wanted his head on a stick.”

“Finn managed to track him down. At the time Stiles was living on the streets boosting cars to survive.” Brady explained with a small downturn of his brow. “When we found him, Killian wanted him dead. Finn managed to convince him otherwise. He put his own neck on the line for a kid he barely knew.”

“So Stiles and Finn were close?” Jackson scoffed. “You’d never’ve known it before.”

“Their relationship is complicated.” Brady snapped to Jackson, silencing him immediately along with a sharp pinch from Lydia. “Finn is… was… a man of few words. Still, Stiles always seemed to know what he was thinking. For a long time Stiles lived with Finn after he joined us and trusted no one else. He barely spoke to anyone besides Finn and was very short-tempered.”

“So what changed?” Scott asked, staring at Brady with raised brows.

“Time. The longer he was here the more at ease he became.” Brady smiled, eyeing Declan and Shay knowingly. “Of course Finn played a large part in getting him to trust us as well.”

“And now he’s dead.” Boyd frowned, his deep voice startling those who rarely heard him speak.

“Stiles won’t let this go.” Brady sighed deeply, finishing off his whiskey in one large gulp. “Finn saved Stiles’ life and was like his brother. One way or another he’ll get revenge. Us getting in his way will only make things worse.”

“So we’re just going to leave him to handle this alone?” Derek demanded incredulously in a deep growl.

“If you think he needs our help you don’t know him as well as you claim.” Brady returned with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles stood in front of a massive skyscraper hotel in downtown New York. The building was glossy, a towering façade of nothing but windows and shiny chrome accents that screamed high-end luxury to the tourists passing through. A doorman was peering at him from the entrance, clearly puzzled as to why he had yet to enter despite his clear intention to do so.

He inhaled deeply, steeling himself for what lied withing the hotel walls. It had taken some time but he’d finally managed to track the Mexican Cartel leader to this overly pretentious hotel. Sure some people had died for him to get that information, but all were men he had recognized from the ambush so really, could anyone blame him for a few drops of spilled blood.

He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up his forarm so as to ensure the sleeves wouldn’t restrict his mobility, before heading inside.

The doorman gave him a friendly nod as he passed, holding the massive glass door open in silence as Stiles strode through with a stoney look on his face. The lobby of the hotel was modern, mostly empty save for a large checkin desk and some very symmetrical furniture that by no means looked comfortable to sit on. The wall behind the checkin desk was artfully graffitied, seemingly modern art to any oblivious guests but a clear territory marker of the Cartel for anyone who knew what to look for.

He strode passed the desk, ignoring the frantic protests of the clerk demanding to see his reservation or room key. His only acknowledgement of the man was a wave of his hand in his direction when he tried to pick up the phone and make a call, the movement sending the phone splintering into a thousand pieces and sending the clerk diving for cover under the desk.

He hit the button for the elevator, waiting patiently as the machine slowly decended to meet him and stepping in calmly despite the two oversized men already standing in the metal box. When the doors closed Stiles sighed and spun to face the two men, easily identifying them as cartel with their distinctive tattoos. In mere moments both were on the floor of the elevator, throats slashed before they could so much as ask what he was doing. When the elevator doors opened to the top floor of the hotel, he stepped out, leaving two bodies in the elevator and a trail of bloody footprints behind him.

The cartel head was waiting for him when he forced the room door open, the door flying off its hinges and crashing into the room with an earshattering echo.

“Back so soon?” The leader drawled, eyeing Stiles with a mixture of fear and hatred.

Around him, five men held guns, looking far more experienced than the men who had been present at the ambush. The guns cocked audibly and Stiles rolled his eyes. He raised his hands towards the men and they soared across the room, crashing into the wall of windows behind them with horrified looks on their faces. The windows cracked slightly with the force of their impact and Stiles grinned, reveling in their fear and the look of terror on the face of their leader.

“What are you?” The man demanded, taking a small step backward as if to somehow escape Stiles’ wrath.

Stiles didn’t answer, simply clenched his still raised fist and grinned twistedly as the men against the window screamed, their bones breaking under Stiles’ power. One by one their screaming stopped, their mangled bodies falling to the floor as their life faded away.

“No witty banter?” The Cartel leader sneered,  a last stitch attempt at maintaining some inkling of bravado in the face of death.

“I’m not here to play.” Stiles ground out, narrowing his eyes at the man, murderous intent seeming from every pore.


	11. No Survivors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come!

“If Killian hated Stiles so much how did they become so close?” Erica asked off handedly, twirling a piece of her blonde hair distractedly.

“Killian loves power.” Brady sighed with a frown, clearly displeased with his own answer. “Ergo he loves Stiles.”

“So Stiles was a pawn.” Lydia pursed her lips, removing a piece of lint from the fringe of her skirt.

“In his own way, Killian genuinely loves Stiles.” Brady frowned, as if trying to convince himself.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Lydia returned, crossing her legs and smiling sickeningly sweetly at Brady who grimaced under the weight of her expression.

“Speaking of Killian.” Scott interjected, glancing around the room in mild concern. “Has anyone told him about Finn?”

“He’s out on business.” Brady spoke, shaking his head no.

“Is that mob code for he’s offing someone?” Jackson asked with a sarcastic smile.

“No it’s mob code for _he’s out on business_.” Brady glared at Jackson in silent warning.

 

* * *

 

 

“Don’t do this.” The cartel leader choked out, his face battered and bloody from Stiles’ rage.

He was on his knees, his white dress shirt stained crimson from his broken nose and split lip. His eye was beginning to swell closed, slowly turning a deep shade of purple from one of Stiles’ hits.

Stiles simply scoffed at his pleading, completely unphased by the man’s freshly mutilated appearance and evident pain.

“You killed Finn.” Stiles ground out, roughly grabbing the collar of the man’s shirt and watching in content as his head lolled slightly at the force. “You said you’d heard of my reputation. If true, you know I don’t leave survivors.”

“It wasn’t our idea.” The man panted, his eyes fluttering as he struggled to stay awake despite his severe concussion.

Stiles arched a brow, saying nothing but affording the man an opportunity to explain.

“You spare my life, I tell you what you want to know.” The man offered, his voice soft as he spat out blood.

“You’re in no position to bargain.” Stiles snapped, releasing the man’s collar and watching as he slumped forwards, barely able to support the weight of his own head. “But since you’re so intent, you tell me what I want to know and I’ll give you a painless death. Otherwise your fate will become much more agonizing.”

Stiles turned the razor he was holding over a few times in his fingers, pausing for dramatic effect.

“I’ll start with your hands, severing your fingers joint by joint, knuckle by knuckle until you’re begging me to allow you to speak. You’re death is inevitable.” Stiles grinned darkly, tracing the blade of the razor down the man’s cheek threateningly. “The only question is, how much of yourself are you willing to sacrifice before I grant it to you.”

The man’s eyes widened in horror as much as was possible given the swelling growing worse with each passing moment.

“It was an Irishman.” The man spewed in a rush of words so jumbled together they were barely understandable. “He told us you were in town and when you were coming for us.”

“You’re telling me one of ours betrayed Killian?” Stiles growled, brows arching in skepticism.

“No.” The man ground out, barely audible due to his injuries. “I’m saying it was Killian.”

Stiles inhaled sharply and ground his teeth, glaring down at the man with renewed anger.

“You’re lying.” Stiles exhaled venomously.

“You know I’m not.” The man returned, a slight smile breaking across his lips at Stiles’ anguish. “You can kill me, but that won’t change the fact your boss still holds a grudge against you. He set you up. It’s you who should’ve died in that bar.”

In a fit of uncontrollable rage Stiles threw his arms towards the man and watched as he flew through the room’s window, falling to his death alongside thousands of shards of glass. Stiles frowned and peered out the broken window to the ground below, instantly spotting the man’s body thanks to the bright crimson splatter he’d created. He frowned and turned to leave, getting back into the elevator and riding down to the lobby in silence alongside the two dead bodies.

The second the elevator doors opened into the lobby Stiles snapped the spine of the desk clerk, still cowering under the checkin desk, not even bothering to look towards the man as he did so. He walked passed the doorman in a similarily nonchalant fashion, slashing his neck with a razor as he passed. The man dropped to the floor in a bloody death and Stiles left, leaving the hotel with no living witnesses to his crimes.

 

* * *

 

 

The pack were all nestled into the den of the Irishmens’ home, lounging in front of the fireplace and basking in the warmth the fire was casting over the room. Declan had once more taken to distractedly plucking his guitar, effectively drowing out the heavy footsteps of Derek as he continued to pace the room.

“For the love of god, sit down.” Brady snapped, slamming his glass onto a nearby coffee table and glaring harshly at Derek. “You’re wearing a rut into the floor.”

Derek scowled down at the man, sitting on the couch and nursing his third glass of whiskey. Somehow the man was showing no signs of drunkenness and Derek didn’t know whether to find that impressive or infuriating.

Before he had a chance to mull it over and decide, the front door opened with a deafening bang as the heavy door slammed against the wall of the entryway. Everyone tensed, frozen momentarily before scrambling to their feet and racing out of the den towards the sound.

By the time anyone reached the foyer Stiles was already half way up the stairs. His clenched fists were bloody and raw and his face was contorted into a mixture of pain and fury. Everyone watched him storm upstairs, not daring to call out to him in his current blood splattered state. Once he was out of sight, disappeared into Killian’s bedroom, the pack glanced around at one another, silently assessing whether or not to follow.

Derek frowned, narrowing his eyes at Brady before venturing up the stairs towards Stiles, mumbling under his breath “Still think he doesn’t need help?”

The door to Killian’s room was closed but not locked and Derek pushed it open without so much as a knock. Stiles stood in front of the fireplace, a large fire burning and casting a flickering orange light over the room. His clothes were off, right down to his underwear, quickly burning to ash in the mantle while he stood unashamedly watching them, completely nude. Derek trailed his eyes slowly over Stiles’ body, unable to push down the wave of lust that washed over him at the sight. Every muscle, every tattoo, every scar, everything was completely visible and it was driving Derek’s wolf crazy.

He clenched his fists, desperately trying to restrain himself from sweeping Stiles onto the bed and taking him right there.

“You’re staring.” Stiles spoke coldly, never averting his eyes from the burning clothes.

“Are you alright?” Derek cleared his throat, snapping out of his trans and closing the door behind him.

“I’m fine.” Stiles replied perhaps even more icily than before, if possible.

“Should I be concerned your heart rate didn’t change despite that being a lie?” Derek arched a brow, eyeing Stiles curiously.

“Where’s Killian?” Stiles asked, ignoring Derek’s question and turning to look at him with steely determination.


	12. Warm the Chill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow my page for more!!

Stiles remained indifferent as Derek’s brows drew together in puzzled concern.

“He’s out.” Derek answered after a moment of silently assessing Stiles’ stone cold expression.

Stiles’ eyes narrowed at the answer and he huffed, turning to walk into the bathroom without a word of explanation. He felt cold despite the heat of the fire and desperately wanted a shower to ease the chill that had permenantly settled into his bones.

Derek followed, clearly confused as to why Stiles was behaving so oddly.

“Are you alright?” Derek pressed, eyeing Stiles suspiciously as he turned on the shower, desperately trying to ignore the fact Stiles was nude.

“Stop asking me that.” Stiles returned icily, stepping into the spray of the water and closing his eyes as it ran over him.

He frowned after a few seconds, the water doing nothing to ease his chill despite the steam beginning to fill the bathroom like a cloud of smoke. Frowning, he yanked the tap, ignoring the pain from the scalding water as the temperature suddenly rose.

“Are you crazy?” Derek demanded, lunging for the tap and turning it the opposite way.

Stiles yelped and raised his hands to try and stop the ice cold stream of water from hitting him, something impossible without leaping out of the shower entirely.

“Are you trying to melt the flesh off your bones?” Derek snapped, glaring at Stiles from his place now inside the oversized shower, fully clothed and absolutely drenched.

“Stop interfering!” Stiles barked in response, scrambling as far out of the water spray as the wall would allow.

Derek frowned, stepping closer to him with narrowed eyes filled with frustrated anger. Stiles met the glare with his own, not flinching in the slightest as Derek slammed his hands on either side of his head, pinning him against the shower wall and trapping them both under the icy spray of the showerhead.

“What is going on?” Derek growled, leaning in towards Stiles face as though some sort of intimidation technique.

“I’m trying to shower and someone has boundry issues.” Stiles returned, an accusing bite in his voice.

“Cute.” Derek growled, not moving away and showing absolutely no signs of remorse for his supposed boundry issues. “You may be able to fool Killian with your sarcasm but I know something happened.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed more menacingly than before at the mention of Killian, the chill hitting him once again in full force. He by no means loved the man, but that fact did little to ease the sting of his betrayal. A small part of him still hoped what the, now very dead, cartel leader had said was a lie, but he couldn’t fool himself into believing Killian wouldn’t betray him. Still, the chill rocking his body was proof enough his betrayal hurt no matter how much he tried to claim he didn’t care.

Derek’s deep green eyes bore into him as if somehow aware of Stiles’ emotional turmoil despite his stoic expression and indifferent demeanor. Stiles stared back, feeling more exposed than he had in ages – and not because he was pinned to a wall naked. A long moment of heavy silence passed between them in which time seemed to stand still and Stiles got lost in Derek’s eyes, noting the flecks of blue and hazel that were so distinctly Derek. It wasn’t until Stiles had forgotten the cold of the water showering them both and his anger melted to intense lust that he closed the small gap remaining between them and crashed his lips against Derek’s.

Derek seemed startled for a brief moment before he quickly returned the kiss, clearly too overcome with longing to pull away and demand the answers he’d been searching for. Stiles ran his hands over Derek’s torso, grabbing the soaked fabric of Derek’s shirt and ripping it so it fell to the floor in a wet heap of ruined cloth. Derek growled and pressed his body closer to Stiles’, pinning him against the wall much more intimately than before.

“Pants.” Stiles panted into Derek’s neck, fisting the man’s hair roughly and digging his fingers into his back in what he assumed would leave bruises.

Derek’s pants dropped to the floor, heavy from their drenched state, and Stiles groaned, feeling Derek’s undeniable erection against his bare flesh.

Derek kissed Stiles’ neck, then his collar bone, then lower, speckling his torso with hickeys until he was finally low enough to take Stiles’ cock in his mouth. He held Stiles’ hips, keeping him still as he tried to buck under the intense pleasure pulsing through him under Derek’s mouth. Derek allowed Stiles’ pleasure to grow, releasing him from his mouth only moments before Stiles could cum. Before Stiles could protest, however, he was spun around with werewolf strength and was facing the wall, hips once again held by Derek’s strong hands. Stiles frowned and attempted to turn back around only to squeal as he felt Derek’s tongue slip inside him and the pleasure continued to pulse through him. Before long Stiles was moaning uncontrollably, barely remaining standing if not for Derek’s hold and his own hands planted firmly against the shower wall.

Once again Derek stopped just short of allowing Stiles climax, this time replacing his tongue with a much thicker part of his body. Stiles gasped as Derek’s cock slid inside him, resting his forhead on the cold shower wall in an attempt to calm himself. An attempt that quickly proved to be in vain as Derek began thrusting into him and his legs quickly gave way under the overwhelming sensation.

Seamlessly, Derek spun Stiles so they were once again facing one another and lifted his legs so they were wrapped around his waist. Once he had Stiles’ entire weight supported between himself and the wall he resumed his thrusting, alternating between watching Stiles’ face with lust filled eyes and littering his neck with hickeys.

The cold water from the shower continued to beat down on them both, though neither seemed to notice in the heat of the moment. By the time Derek was spilling into Stiles, he had coated almost every inch of Stiles’ chest not covered by tattoos with hickeys. Stiles cried out as Derek filled him, leaving more bruises on Derek’s back and allowing the utter pleasure to wash over him until he was climaxing soon after.

They both stood in the shower, still intimately connected, as the cold water washed over them, panting and slowly coming down from the high of sex. Derek’s eyes were once again boring into Stiles’, though now filled with lust instead of frustrated questioning. Stiles stared back, his chest slowly returning to a normal breathing rhythm instead of the breathlessness he’d been caught in.

Without a word Derek slowly released him, lowering him carefully back onto the shower floor to stand on his own. They never broke eye contact as Derek reluctantly removed his hands from Stiles ass and took a small step away from him, allowing them both a modicum of space to process what had just happened.

After a few moments of heavy silence filled with intense eye contact and steadying breaths, Stiles opened his mouth as if to speak only to be interrupted by the bedroom door slamming open with a deafening bang. Stiles tore his eyes away from Derek, drawn to the sound by a combination of anger and morbid curiousity.

He rushed out of the bathroom, dripping wet, completely nude, and covered in fresh hickeys, stopping dead in his tracks as he came face to face with Killian standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

“Killian.” Stiles growled darkly, jaw clenched and teeth grinding together in overwhelming rage, the full force of the man’s betrayal hitting him like a stack of bricks.

In one fluid motion Killian was crashing through the second story banister and falling to the foyer below and Stiles was grabbing the closest pair of pants and racing after him.


	13. Pawns Get Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record all the Irish Gaelic was done through google translate and I think we can all agree that's pretty ineffective. So if you actually speak Irish Gaelic sorry for any mistakes that are definitely there (also congrats on actually speaking Irish Gaelic that's sexy as fuck!)   
> Enjoy and don't forget to comment!

“Stiles! What the hell!” Brady bellowed, bursting into the foyer and reflexively drawing his gun, the others close behind him.

“Tell me it isn’t true!” Stiles barked at Killian from the second story, standing on the ledge where the banister had been destroyed by Killian’s fall.

Killian lay on the floor of the foyer below, surrounded by wood pieces and coughing from the force of the fall. He rolled over, inhaling deeply to catch his breath before pushing himself to his feet, stumbling slightly in his disorientation.

Stiles watched with an expression of murderous rage, barely holding his power in check as Killian scrambled to his feet. He jumped down from the second story, his power gliding him down to land among the splintered wood unharmed, cracking the tiled floor under the weight of his descent.

“Tell me your vanity didn’t kill Finn.” Stiles ground out, watching Killian intently as Brady stepped between them, clearly warring with whose side to take.

“Mharú dó!” Killian instructed harshly, gesturing for Brady, Shay and Declan to protect him. [ _Translation: kill him_ ]

“Coward!” Stiles shouted, flinging his arm to the side and watching as Brady’s gun flew across the foyer in the same direction as his motion. “How could you hate me so much you’re willing to sacrifice your own men?”

Killian seemed to freeze at Stiles’ question, all panic disappearing from his face, replaced by cold resentment as his body became rigid and his eyes narrowed.

“This was never about them.” Killian ground out, stepping out from behind Brady to face Stiles himself. “If you had just done what I’d instructed they wouldn’t have been involved. It was you who allowed yourself to be seduced by that dog. Your distraction killed Finn.”

“Damnú ort. Ná milleán do betrayal ar orm!” Stiles roared, slipping into a strong Irish tongue as his anger spiked. “Tá Derek faic a dhéanamh leis seo!” [ _Translation: Fuck you. Don’t blame your betrayal on me! Derek has nothing to do with this_!]

“Dúnmharfóir!” Killian spat in response, his fists clenching until they were white-knuckled and shaking in fury. [ _Translation: Murderer_!]

“That’s my job!” Stiles retorted harshly, slipping back into English as some of his rage was replaced with mild confusion.

“Your job is to suffer. Your job is to belong to me and obey.” Killian rumbled, accusation festering beneath his words. “Your job was not to run away or fall in love. Your _job_ was to atone for what you did for the rest of your life.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles growled, his confusion growing as Killian barked at him.

“You sent her to prison!” Killian roared, pointing an accusing finger at Stiles. “It was your fault she died behind bars! Your life for hers, you don’t deserve to be happy!”

“Wait.” Brady interjected, holding a hand out towards both Stiles and Killian as if to keep them apart. “What is going on?”

“Larr air.” Stiles growled, jaw flexed as he jerked towards Killian only to be restrained by Brady’s hand on his chest. [ _Translation: ask him_ ]

“Killian?” Brady pressed, arching a brow at their leader in respectful albeit annoyed questioning.

“It’s not your place to question.” Killian replied flatly to Brady, who frowned and returned his attention to Stiles in silent inquiry.

“Tá sé ag obair leis an Cairtéil.” Stiles snarled, pressing against Brady’s hand on his chest in a weak attempt to lunge forward at Killian. “Mharaigh sé Finn!” [ _Translation: He’s working with the cartel. He killed Finn_!]

“He wasn’t supposed to be there! Only Stiles was supposed to die!” Killian snapped, as if that somehow made up for Finn’s death and forgave his betrayal.

“Stiles is one of us.” Brady spoke, as though genuinely trying to convince himself Killian couldn’t have done what he was being accused of.

“He was never one of us.” Killian sneered, glaring at Stiles with a look of utter disgust. “He was a pawn. A pawn who got Dara killed. And when pawns outlive their usefulness they get taken.”

“But he didn’t get Dara arrested.” Brady frowned, glancing wearily between Stiles and Killian. “She did that to herself.”

“No!” Killian snarled, shaking his head in refusal. “If he hadn’t drawn so much attention with his kills they never would have looked at her to begin with!”

“Tá tú mícheart!” Brady snapped, a deep-set frown appearing on his face as if permanently fixed there. “She was being unfaithful. She was sneaking around with the leader of the Cartel. She got arrested because she got involved in their drug operation.” [ _Translation: You’re wrong_!]

“You’re lying!” Killian roared, taking out a gun and pointing it at Brady threateningly, clearly becoming more and more unhinged with Brady’s words.

“I kept it from you to spare your feelings.” Brady admitted, narrowing his eyes defiantly at the shaft of the gun pointed at him. “How do you think the Cartel swept in so effectively? She was feeding them information! If you were working with the Cartel their leader was playing you for a fool. He was using your misguided emotions to exploit a weakness.”

“Uimh! Stop é!” Killian snarled, cocking the gun in warning. [ _Translation: No! Stop it!_ ]

“He must’ve seen an opening to divide us and eliminate a threat.” Brady pressed on, refusing to be silent despite his life being in jeopardy. “Best case they would’ve managed to kill Stiles, the number one obstacle in our ranks, worst case your betrayal came out and we usurped you. He was cleaning house.”

The second the words left Brady’s mouth Killian pulled the trigger and the bullet froze mere inches from Brady’s head, suspended midair by Stiles’ power.

Brady exhaled in relief and quickly stepped out of its path, not willing to risk it despite Stiles’ hold. The bullet fell to the floor, bouncing across the tile uselessly with a metallic tinkling that seemed to only amplify the tension in the room.

The Irishmen had their guns drawn but seemed torn on how to use them, unsure if their loyalties remained with Killian or if they were willing to stand against him with Stiles despite their oath to protect. The wolves stood behind the befuddled Irishmen looking even more conflicted. This wasn’t their fight and Derek was not present to give them direction or confirm their involvement, making them all too confused as to whether they should be attacking or allowing the situation to play out.

“Tá tú pian.” Killian snarled, pointing the gun at Stiles as the bullet rolled to a slow stop between them. [ _Translation: You are a pain_ ]

“Gach bliana seo.” Stiles ground out, fists clenched as he glared past the gun at the man holding it. “All this time I thought it was my fault. I allowed myself to be used by you, to be exploited and manipulated because I thought I owed you something. But all this time the fault was hers. She cheated on you and I was the one who received your wrath. Ba choir Mé riamh bhraith ciontach as grámhara Derek!” [ _Translation: All these years. / I should’ve never felt guilty for loving Derek_ ]

“Éist suas.” Killian hissed through clenched teeth. “This was _your_ fault! All I wanted was to twist you, make you feel the same pain I felt. That was the reason for our _relationship_.” He spat the last word as though it left a vile taste in his mouth before continuing. “But you didn’t care! You were fine being a replacement!” [ _Translation: Shut up_ ]

Killian’s eyes darted to the staircase where Derek was creeping down, having finally found a pair of jeans among Killian’s clothes after finding his still soaked pants impossible to pull on. He reached the bottom of the staircase and came to stand beside Stiles, defiantly glowering at Killian as if daring him to make a move. In response a twisted smirk pulled across Killian’s lips as he adjusted the gun to point at Derek rather than Stiles.

“Something tells me _his_ death would kill you far worse than me simply filling you with lead.” Killian chuckled, aiming the gun at Derek’s forehead.


	14. Winged Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to comment!

As the gun came to rest level with Derek’s head the pack erupted into howls and growls of protest, their eyes flashing and teeth and claws extending to defend their Alpha. Before any had a chance to move, however, Stiles had jumped in front of Derek, arms extended to either side in order to act as a human shield.

Tensions were high and anger was even higher, the foyer filled with a thick cloud of murderous intent that hung between Stiles and Killian. Stiles didn’t seem to care his new hickeys were on display for all to see with him being shirtless, far too preoccupied with Killian and his threats to notice some of the others eyeing him and Derek knowingly.

“Leomh mé leat.” Stiles bit harshly, narrowing his eyes at Killian down the barrel of the gun. [ _Translation: I dare you_ ]

Stiles was acutely aware of Killian’s trigger finger twitching, millimeter by millimeter getting closer to pulling the trigger. He stood unmoving in front of Derek, prepared for the force of the bullet he would have to stop else be shot.

Killian’s trigger finger flexed and a deafening shot echoed through the foyer. Stiles eyes slammed shut and his body tensed as he prepared himself for the pain that came with a bullet wound. None ever came.

Wearily, Stiles slowly opened his eyes, first a tiny sliver then all the way as utter confusion overtook him. A few feet away, where Killian had once been standing, was now his crumpled body, limp and slowly seeping blood over the tile floor. Stiles stared at him for a long moment, confused, pained and slightly relieved as he took in the sight of his once lover dead in a bloody mess.

When he couldn’t stand the sight anymore he tore his eyes up and slowly trailed them across the room until he spotted Brady with a gun and an expression of steely determination on his face.

In an instant it clicked as to what had happened. Killian had tried to pull the trigger. Tried to kill him. Brady had stopped him. Shot him before he had a chance to do so.

Brady had betrayed his oath to Killian in favor of saving Stiles’ life. Brady had sided with him.

Stiles’ legs collapsed beneath him, the weight of Killian’s death suddenly hitting him. Derek’s strong arms wrapped around him, keeping him upright and cradling him to Derek’s broad, muscular chest.

Killian was dead. Finn was dead. There was no one left to blame, no distractions left to keep him from recognizing everything had changed. All too suddenly, all the emotions Stiles had been keeping locked away behind a wall of anger and a façade of revenge came flooding to the surface.

Derek’s arms tightened around him slightly as Stiles began to spiral, his body shaking as he tried to push the emotions away to no avail.

Derek swept Stiles up into his arms and turned to stomp upstairs without a word of explanation. Stiles frowned against his chest but was frankly too drained to argue or care what was happening. Once again he felt that icy chill taking hold of his bones.

“Where are you going?” Scott demanded incredulously, watching his Alpha haul Stiles up the oversized staircase.

“Bedroom.” Derek growled in response, storming into Killian and Stiles’ room and slamming the door behind them.

In the foyer everyone shifted uncomfortably, clearly wishing they hadn’t asked nor heard the answer.

 

* * *

 

 

“You need to process.” Derek huffed, dropping Stiles onto the enormous bed and standing at the bed’s foot to watch him.

Stiles peered up at him with hollow eyes before glancing around the room and closing his eyes defiantly.

“Finn is dead and now so is Killian.” Derek spoke firmly, Stiles cringing with each word. “You keep that inside and you’ll explode.”

“I’m fine.” Stiles mumbled, keeping his eyes closed as the corners of his mouth pulled down into a frown.

“Bullshit.” Derek huffed with a roll of his eyes, falling onto the bed beside Stiles. “You need to talk about things.”

Stiles said nothing, his frown deepening as he scrunched his eyes more tightly closed.

“Alright.” Derek frowned, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his hand to look at Stiles more closely. “Let’s start with something easy. Why’d you get this?”

Derek traced his fingertips over the large four-leaf clover tattoo over Stiles heart. The tattoo was green, with a Celtic knot in the center of the clover where all the leaves met. On each of the four leaves was a word scrawled in another language, complete gibberish to Derek but clearly something significant to Stiles.

“Protection.” Stiles answered after a long moment of silence. “The clover is for luck in battle.”

“And the words?” Derek continued, still tracing the tattoo gently with his fingers.

“They’re names.” Stiles sighed, finally opening his eyes to lock gazes with Derek. “Brady, Finn, Shay, and Declan. The knot in the center symbolizes unity.”

“And this?” Derek continued, his fingers trailing down from the large clover to an intricately inked word beneath in black.

“It says family in Gaelic.” Stiles offered, his face relaxing slightly as Derek’s fingers moved from tattoo to tattoo.

“This?” Derek asked, tracing the elaborate black and white skull tattoo on Stiles’ forearm.

“An initiation tattoo.” Stiles explained with a sigh. “It’s supposed to represent power and divinity.”

Derek moved his fingers up to Stiles’ shoulders where the tips of black wings curled around from Stiles’ back. He studied the design for a moment in silence before locking eyes with Stiles in silent question.

“The wings connect to a cross.” Stiles clarified, sitting up from his place lying on his back in order to show Derek the oversized ink on his back.

The large black wings met a sizeable Celtic cross between his shoulder blades, intricately woven with winding, twisting knots that made it beautifully complex. Beneath the cross was a portrait of a grim reaper, terrifying and dark, holding a scythe and looking at Derek as if he were there to claim his soul.

Derek trailed his fingers down the middle of the cross as Stiles continued to speak.

“The wings represent my escape from death and the cross and reaper symbolize the people I send to hell.” Stiles explained, grinning slightly as he mentioned the wings. “The wings were Finn’s idea. He thought I needed a tattoo for myself instead of other people.”

“Makes sense.” Derek smiled, afraid to say more and make Stiles close himself off again.

“Finn’s dead.” Stiles mumbled, touching one of his shoulders where the tips of the wings extended from his back.

Derek didn’t move, didn’t breathe, simply kept one hand rested on Stiles’ back in silent comfort.

“Finn’s dead.” Stiles repeated, and in an instant his eyes were filled with tears and his face was contorted in sorrow while Derek gently ran his hand across Stiles’ back in consolation.


	15. Candlelit Harmony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so the first song that Stiles starts to sing is Hallelujah (Celtic Thunder Version):   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SmHXfB8Amt4  
> The next is Song for the Mira (Celtic Thunder):  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3as9K3CSJvg  
> The last song where the candles are being blown out is Turning Away (Celtic Thunder):  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jztTQGtVLJw  
> So definitely check those out if you're interested to hear what they're singing. Enjoy and don't forget to comment!

Derek held Stiles for hours as he grieved. Through the tears, the blinding rage, and even the denial. Eventually Stiles fell asleep in his arms, so exhausted he could barely function.

Now, Derek couldn’t help but smile as he looked down at Stiles, head nestled into his shoulder and chest rising and falling steadily as he slept. He looked more at peace than Derek had ever seen him. His eyes were still red and more than a little swollen, but they were softly closed and unmarred by the usual lines of anger or frustration.

Stiles’ meltdown had been drastic, violent and filled with more pain than one man need ever endure. Still, the fact he had allowed himself to be so vulnerable and uninhibited in front of Derek felt far more intimate than anything else that had passed between them. Their sex was animalistic and incredible but the emotional connection Stiles offered him was better – something never seen by anyone else. Not Killian. Not Brady.

Only Derek.

Stiles stirred in Derek’s arms, his eyes fluttering open and flitting around in momentary confusion.

“What happened?” Stiles mumbled, looking around the room to find pictures smashed, dressers knocked over, and clothes in tattered heaps on the floor.

“You processed.” Derek shrugged with a small chuckled as he watched Stiles fully wake up and remember his emotional tantrum.

“Right.” Stiles sighed, pushing himself off of Derek to sit up and card both his hands through his disheveled hair.

Derek calmly watched as Stiles got up from the bed and dug through the clothing scattered throughout the room until he found a shirt that was still intact. He slipped it on, a simple black t-shirt, and ran his hands through his hair a few more times until it was at least somewhat straightened.

“Thank you.” Stiles muttered softly to Derek from across the room where he was straightening his appearance. “For letting me vent.”

“Anytime.” Derek shrugged, using Stiles acknowledgment as his cue to get out of bed and stride to the bathroom to retrieve his own clothes, now dry.

They didn’t say much else while getting dressed, save for the spontaneous hug Derek suddenly received before Stiles rushed out of the room and sped downstairs.

 

* * *

 

 

“So after Stiles joined the mob, Killian’s girlfriend got arrested and he blamed Stiles. Then Stiles left and Killian tracked him down for revenge after his girlfriend was murdered in prison. He colluded with the Cartel who were playing him because they were the ones _actually_ responsible for his girlfriends death. And ultimately his baseless hatred of Stiles led to both Finn’s death and his own.” Lydia hummed, recapping the entire situation with a thoughtful expression.

“More or less.” Brady shrugged with a curt nod. “The real question is now that Killian’s dead, how long before the Cartel moves in to finish the rest of us.”

“If that’s what you’re waiting for you’ll be waiting a while.” Stiles spoke, striding into the room and going straight for a nearby bottle of scotch, not even bothering with a glass. “I killed the Cartel head.”

Derek followed him into the room, taking a seat with Isaac and Scott on one of the couches. Stiles remained standing, effortlessly commanding the attention of the room.

“Stiles.” Brady sighed disapprovingly.

“Don’t play the innocent.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Or have you forgotten you allowed me to believe I was responsible for Dara’s imprisonment.”

“I told you, you weren’t.” Brady returned, undeniable guilt clear in his voice.

“I guess this means we both have things in our past we’re not proud of.” Stiles arched a brow, taking a sip of the scotch straight from the bottle before passing the drink to Brady in a show of comradery.

After a brief instant in which genuine surprise passed over Brady’s face, he took the bottle from Stiles and took a sip.

“I guess it does.” Brady agreed with a small grin.

 

* * *

 

Brady watched Stiles as he stood, eerily calm, in the front row of the church. Derek stood beside him, an ever-present comfort that seemed to relax Stiles more than Brady thought possible.

The church was a decent size, elaborate arches and chestnut pews filling the oversized room and stain-glass windows casting the funeral in beautiful colors as the last rays of the day’s sun shone down on them. There wasn’t an empty seat in any of the pews, the mob and associated community showing up to show their solidarity in Finn’s death.

The reverend spoke a few traditional sermons, some in Gaelic and some in English, before striking a match and approaching Stiles. Stiles held the candle in his hands forwards for the reverend to light, bowing his head briefly in prayer once it was aflame. After a few seconds of silent reverence, Stiles turned and lit the candle of the teenager standing beside him. The teenage boy nodded to him in silent thanks before turning and passing the flame to the next candle, continuing the ignition of the candles until the entire church was aglow in the soft hues of candlelight.

With all the candles lit Stiles inhaled deeply before breaking the silence of the church with a soft melody, his words echoing through the high ceilings and filling the space with a heart wrenching song.  After a few versus of Stiles singing alone, Brady, Declan and Shay joined in the tune, the song exploding through the church in beautiful harmony. Some in the church had tears glistening in their eyes while others were softly singing along with heavy expressions of mourning.

When the song finally tapered off, Stiles stepped forwards from the front pew and approached the coffin, resting his candle atop the large wooden casket and pausing as if silently addressing his friend within. After a moment he turned to face the church, nodding at Brady who quickly joined him, alongside Declan and Shay, by the coffin. Each placed their own candle solemnly atop the casket before joining Stiles in facing the rest of the church. Finally, Stiles extended a hand towards the teenager he’d been seated with in the front pew. The boy joined them on stage, his face an almost perfect replica of Finn’s albeit substantially younger. Stiles placed a hand encouragingly on the teen’s shoulder, letting him know he was there if needed.

The teen exhaled deeply, taking a moment to stone himself before speaking to the crowd peering up at him.   
“Thank you for coming.” He spoke, firmly and with a curt nod. “My father would have been grateful for your friendship.”

A few more words of thanks and a short speech about Finn, and Brady was stepping forwards to relieve Finn’s son from having to speak. He gave a curt introduction and nodded to Declan who was now holding his guitar. A soft piano melody filled the church, accompanied by Declan’s melodic plucking. The church was soon filled with song as the group and Finn’s son led the church in traditional tunes. Countless songs passed, filled with beautiful harmonies and the soft strumming of various instruments, until finally Stiles once again stepped forward to address the church.

Without a word he began the final song, the others joining him in staggered harmony. As the song filled the church, one by one the candles in pews began getting extinguished. Light by light, flame by flame the soft glow grew dimmer and dimmer until all that was left was a dark church illuminated only by the five candles resting atop Finn’s casket. As the song came to a close, one by one Stiles and the others gathered around the casket, lifting the wooden box and slowly making their way down the center aisle of the church towards the graveyard.

Everyone in the church followed, guided by the five candles still flickering brightly atop Finn’s coffin.

As they reached the plot intended for Finn they lowered his coffin, one by one blowing out the candles and watching as the casket descended into the earth. Finally, Stiles strode up to the edge of the hole, peering down at his friend for the last time, whispering a final goodbye and throwing a small winged cross pendant into the ground to accompany his friend in eternity.


	16. A Final Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. Hope you enjoyed (and there will most likely be a sequel so follow my page for that!)

“Call me if you need me.” Stiles insisted firmly, shaking Brady’s hand only to be pulled into a hug.

With Killian dead, Brady had quickly ascended to take his place as head of the Irish Mafia, and with Stiles’ help they had swiftly rid the city of the remaining Cartel, driving them out like cattle. Frankly Stiles’ reputation had done most of the work given how tell of the Cartel leaders death had spread so rapidly through the ranks.

“I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say to make you stay?” Brady sighed, releasing Stiles with a knowing smirk.

Stiles glanced between Brady and Derek, who was standing behind him, clearly torn as to where he belonged. New York, the Mafia, that would always be Stiles’ home. His family. Still, Derek was where his heart lay and they both knew it.

“What’s going to happen to Finn’s son?” Stiles changed the topic, not wanting to tell Brady no outright.

“We’ll take care of him.” Brady promised, his voice suddenly turning hard and serious. “He’s eighteen next year. God knows he’ll need some guidance.”

“Keep him out of trouble.” Stiles nodded.

“As much as is possible in our line of work.” Brady chuckled shaking his head amusedly.

A moment of silence, filled with the goodbyes neither wanted to voice, hung between them, broken only by Brady’s reluctant sigh.

“Make a good life in Beacon Hills.” Brady smiled. “We’ll drop in every now and again. Ní féidir linn a fhágáil go fírinneach ar an saol.” [ _Translation: We can never truly leave the life_ ]

“Ach do anois tá mé pacáiste.” Stiles smiled, shaking Brady’s hand one last time in mutual understanding. [ _Translation: But for now I’m Pack_ ]

Stiles smiled to Derek who wrapped an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and led him to the black Camaro that had allowed them to meet that first day in Stiles’ shop.

“I don’t know what that man did to you but don’t let him do it again.” Stiles whispered sarcastically to the car, inevitably slightly dented and scratched from its time on the streets of New York.

“I’ll drive how I want.” Derek growled with a rumbling chuckle, putting the car in gear and driving away so fast the tires screeched almost painfully on the pavement.


End file.
